


With Isen's Flow

by XxIrisxX



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Enforced rituals, Forbidden Love, M/M, Romance, Same-sex love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-02-22 14:04:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 29,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2510396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XxIrisxX/pseuds/XxIrisxX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter with Thranduil leaves Thorin mesmerized and despite the historical hostility surrounding elves and dwarves, he can't help but fall for this elf. But not all is as simple as one might think. His kin frowns upon love of the same sex. Even if the elves show ease towards that matter, they do not show ease at all when it comes to the celibacy forced upon a husband in eternal mourning for his late wife. Meanwhile, Thorin too holds a secret of his own that could cause his end. Eventual Thorinduil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine, not a single thing!
> 
> Warning: This will not at all coincide with the events Tolkien had written about. So it's heavily AU'd- in cannon verse though, still. Thranduil is a widower and the celibacy he has to live by is there in many societies and even a slight wavering from it causes the person to be subjected under harsh words. So...in advance, i apologize if I might come off insulting any religion/society. It is absolutely not my intention.
> 
> AN: So, as I've said. Thranduil's wife has passed away long back but he is forced to live by rituals for a mourning husband. Now what I spoke about applied to women. Thankfully nowadays, society is much much liberal but back in the old days, they were simple douches. So I just wanna send out a message. I really wish to offend no one.

Gasps could be heard in the air, loud and heavy, much like the sound of steps which accompanied it, disturbing the relative peace and calmness which seemingly shrouded the forest.

The rhythm increased. Pants became louder. The steps which were at an even pace now grew more and more frantic. The scrunch of leaves scattered on the forest floor suddenly erupted with a random sound as tired feet stumbled with exhaustion. More scrunches followed as the person himself tried gathering his bearings, stepping randomly and with great unevenness, trying to bring about a balance which he had at first.

After a while, the sound of mottled leaves beneath feet became regular once more. Once more the rhythm of feet continued—only this time, it was faster, more erratic than what it had been just a few hours ago. Only this time, the pants were swollen and strained, interrupted occasionally by gasps as the person looked over his shoulder and then by a sigh of relief as he looked ahead once more, satisfied that the path he left behind was still as isolated as the one in front.

* * *

Thorin collided against a tree, barely saving his face as his hands clumsily steadied on the trunk. His whole body ached with the rigour he had set on himself. His lungs cried for air and even though his mind told him to go on, Thorin's body refused to move a step further. Leaning against the tree, Thorin slid down on to the ground, welcoming the cover of leaves and dew-washed moss beneath his palms.

He rolled his head on either side, breathing in and out—hoping that the fresh forest air would render him a much needed stability—before he would have to resume his journey.

Finally, after a great while, the burn in Thorin's lungs gradually began ebbing away. His feet too stopped throbbing as much and the events of the whole day finally taking toll upon him, Thorin's eyelids began to be pulled down under the burden of sheer exhaustion .

He sat up suddenly, fluttering his eyes open.

Where was his head? He rebuked himself.

Had he lost all sense of caution or had he simply lost his mind? To be splayed out in open wilderness with only a sword for protection was not only stretched bravery but it was absolutely an act of  _stupidity_!

But despite it all, Thorin found himself too lethargic. Even a simple task of getting up on one of the branches seemed to be monumental. Just the prospect of  _getting up_ caused apathy.

Giving in to it, Thorin slumped his shoulders and again leaned back against the tree.

The forest seemed safe. So far it had not presented any threats. He had not heard growls of any ferocious animals and most certainly he had not come across any warg trails which was a source of huge relief.

Moreover, it was early morning. To his knowledge, the nocturnal predators—if there were any—would not come out till  _hours_.

With one last look over his shoulders, Thorin turned to his left and closed his eyes.

Fresh morning air hitting against his face rendered a cooling sensation. His head felt lighter now that the burden of tension he felt through many nights was slowly beginning to lift up.

From not too far away, he could hear the gentle ripples of a river. The quiet sound of water felt extremely soothing to his senses. His eyes grew heavy once more. His breathing evened out. Relieved, Thorin finally welcomed a much needed sleep.

* * *

His sleep thinned when sounds of splashes entered his ears. It wasn't anything like a massacre that had been going on—rather, the splashes were gentle at best. Still, because of the relative abruptness, Thorin's senses reacted and he sat up groggily, frowning at the direction.

Rubbing off the last bit of sleep from his eyes, he stood up.

He wondered who else was there apart from him. Perhaps it was an animal, he reckoned or even...

His eyes grew wide with dread as he deliberately left his trail of thought unfinished. Immediately, his hand reached for the hilt of his sword and with great stealth, Thorin began moving—placing his feet carefully, heel and toe, mindful of making as less sound as possible.

The sound grew louder the more he approached. A sense of trepidation was slowly beginning to shroud him. The more he got nearer, more his heart felt constricting, beating hard against the inflow of fearful possibilities as they crossed him one by one.

He let out a shuddering breath. His senses were extremely sharp, keen on picking up even the slightest of sound. His very body was on high alert, ready to launch an attack at the slightest hint of aggression.

A cold feeling of anxiety was churning deep within his heart and with every step he took, the denser that feeling became. His palms started sweating, heart pounded, mind raced with a million of foreboding thoughts.

Suddenly, Thorin paused.

His mouth hung with shock and his eyes extended so much at what he saw that they threatened to come out off his socket.

_Mahal, have mercy!_

He thought exasperatedly, letting out a breath which seemed to take out much off the suffocating feeling he had in his heart, only to be replaced by new ones—wild ones and those that were much stronger!

It was no animal in front of him. Nor was it any predator or hunter.

Rather it was the most amazing thing Thorin had ever seen.

Right there, a few feet ahead flowed a river, just as Thorin had guessed. Its waters gleamed brilliantly against the crisp morning sun like liquid diamond and amidst that, stood a tall, slender form with distinctive ears.

The person's back was turned towards him and Thorin could only see a view of long blonde hair, but that was more than enough.

Those tresses  _shone_ in the warm sunlight and no less intense than the gleaming waters surrounding the person. They splayed over the person's shoulder and back like a freshly melted stream of gold, moulding into their perfect shape, and slowly tapering towards the curve of that delicate lower back.

Undoubtedly it was an elf. For even if the ears had given Thorin that conclusion, there was no other race which possessed such an unearthly beauty.

The elf bathed single-mindedly, occasionally scooping up water delicately in palms and splashing it all over the slender form.

 _Now_  he realized why he had heard those sounds. And once he did, it was no longer as alarming. Rather, it was  _alluring._ Thorin cautiously stepped behind a tree and stared ahead. No, he did not stare. he  _observed._

Thorin's gaze followed its every move. How gracefully it balanced itself against the gentle current! The end of its hair drifted along with the stream while its lower body remained submerged. How daintily it scooped up water onto its other hand, spreading it with perfect slender fingers which ran along the length of its long limbs!

It was then that he noticed the wet white long tunic plastered over its body. The way it fit along every line of the elf's frame was purely divine.

Slowly the elf turned sideways and Thorin's heart leapt in his throat.

The elf was not beautiful. No, _he_  was gorgeous! He had never in his life seen such a perfect face in his life...drawn eyes, thick drawn eyebrows, a perfect straight nose, delicate pink lips...everything about  _him_ rendered this elf an other-worldly beauty which Thorin was certain the Mahal had taken great care in making.

His heart now tingled with thrill. All of a sudden, Thorin found himself wanting to approach the being wanting to  _talk_ with him...know his name at least! But he was unable to.

The view made him transfixed and his feet dared not move.

The elf now raised his head above towards the sun and seemingly soaked its warmth. After a few moments, he again hung his head down and lowered himself deep into the waters, standing up once more with inborn poise.

It was then that Thorin realized, that being was praying.

He had heard of Elven deities...he had heard about their rituals but somehow this particular one struck him odd. The elves were never known to pray to the sun! At least not by what he had  _heard_  from his mother. Oh he remembered well each and every word she spoke, tucking him in bed. She seemed to know that he had always had a fascination for the race his own had despised. And she would always speak lores and stories regarding them in careful tone and hushed words.

Thorin always wondered how his mother had come to know so much about elves but he knew one thing for certain: she was never wrong with her tales.

Yet, this being did it so perfectly that Thorin found himself not at all caring about the uniqueness of this ritual.

He was enchanted, he was thrilled...for despite their history with elves, Thorin never found such a strong desire for any of the ladies of his race as what he was feeling for this person.

It felt forbidden...it felt wrong but more so, it felt so liberating.

It was the elf who was at prayer but it was  _Thorin_  who felt that his wishes already got fulfilled.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I so don't own The Hobbit.
> 
> AN: So second chapter. I am totally sure you know who this 'elf' is. And we will get to know more about him in the very next chapter. And Thorin's secret? You'll find out soon enough. ;)
> 
> Thank you for the lovely response! :D
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 2

He had not come for the rest of the day. Thorin waited and waited. Mahal knew how longingly he stared at the river, his keen eyes scanning the water for a glimpse of gold and white but his efforts were proving futile.

Morning turned to dusk, dusk turned to evening. Slowly daylight faded away, revealing a crisp clear night, studded with stars—all very scenic but not the scenery that Thorin's eager eyes wanted to see.

Throughout the day, his attention reverted back to that morning. Again and again, the same trail of images reined his mind.

The sparkling waters, the gentle splashes, the delicate fingers trailing up to the entire length of arm, the long golden tresses undulating with the flow of the stream, the creamy white flesh showing through the wet veil of clothes and those eyes...

Involuntarily, Thorin's breath hitched as his mind settled on those unique features.

Those eyes...Thorin had seen them closed but he imagined what a sight they were to behold. And those thick and dark brows...shockingly different from the shimmering splay of honey framing the elf's face but undoubtedly his most striking feature.

At the very thought of him, Thorin shivered and closed his eyes, allowing for the sweet chill of excitement wash over him. Warmth began spreading from his heart, little by little increasing in intensity till it reached up his cheeks and necks, warming them with a sweet discomfort.

It was clear now more than ever. Thorin was enchanted...and he  _needed_ to catch just another glimpse of him.

However, his muse had to be put on hold as evening rolled in. Reluctantly, Thorin rose up from the spot he had been laying down. He stretched himself with a strained groan, impressed that he had been able to stay in one spot for so long.

Lethargy crept in him and he did not wish anything more than just to sit down and be lost in his thoughts. However, his instincts took over and as much as he would have loved to relish his apathy, Thorin knew well enough the dangers a forest could pose at night and the priorities he would need to achieve.

With one last look towards the river, he finally turned and headed into the woods. He would need to gather firewood. He had already missed an entire day to catch prey; he would have to collect fruits and berries as well.

Allured as though he might have been, he still had yet to forget the reason he had entered the forest in the first place. And for that, his survival bore the highest priority.

* * *

 

Thorin rolled over his side, frowning in disgust as his eyes seemed to be flooded by the bright rays of the sun. Morning had seemed to come unnaturally fast and Thorin would dearly love to sleep in—even if it was for a few extra moments.

Thorin stirred slightly. Morning?

He gasped out all of a sudden. His eyes flying open, Thorin sat up abruptly, vehemently blinking away the last specks of sleep.

Morning! It had been well into morning, by the looks of it and that meant that it might have been a lost opportunity for him!

Panicking, he stumbled to his feet and hastily made way towards the same spot he had hidden the previous day.

He prayed that he was not too late. He prayed that he would get a chance to see that elf. He had not the slightest idea if the elf would come there at all! Perhaps it was just a monthly ritual...or maybe an annual one—who knew! Had it been so, then Thorin would curse his fate to shreds for seeing something he would never get to see again.

But he had hope. He hoped that his fears were baseless. He hoped that Mahal would favour him one more time and allow him to behold that what his eyes yearned to see. And somehow, despite the franticness, Thorin suddenly felt optimistic. He believed that he  _would._

Thorin keeled over, sighing out heavily as he held his knees. The jog from his campsite to that very spot had been done with an unnatural speed— of one that Thorin himself was amused. He breathed in and out, allowing the air to enter his lungs. His lungs were ceasing to burn and Thorin's eyes closed automatically as the discomfort was slowly fading away.

Suddenly, his ears caught a faint sound, causing him to look up. He frowned lightly, hoping against hope that the sound was what he had intended it to be and very cautiously, he placed his alms on the tree trunk and peered out straight ahead.

His frown dissipated immediately as he was greeted with his desired sight.

The elf was back. Again in the same attire—white fabric, plastering to his soaked skin—again indulging in the same routing, closing his eyes and simply standing in the water for some time before daintily washing his hands and hair.

And when he raised his head towards the sun, exposing the lines of his long and delicate neck, Thorin couldn't help but let his mouth fall in wonder.

How could a simple act like that be so poised? How could the creature make it look like a perfect and poignant act, as if practiced through ages and ages to achieve that level of perfection?

The elf had his eyes closed, his lips barely moving in silent prayers. Sunrays fell upon his face, illuminating its borders by a delicate line which rendered him an unnatural glow.

He was  _beautiful_  and somehow, Thorin couldn't help but feel a sense of purity radiating from him.

Suddenly, the other opened his eyes and abruptly turned towards Thorin.

Thorin breathed in, air shuddering in, rattling his insides as he now came face to face with the other. His face...his face—it was so gorgeous and sharp and delicate...Thorin knew no words that would render justice to the other's beauty. His breath got caught in his throat and he felt a slow and dim warmth building within his heart that now pounded with a maddening pace.

The elf gazed back with eyes wide with sheer shock and astonishment. Clearly he had unappreciated the intrusion of his privacy but Thorin was oblivious. He had no mind to notice he had long come out of his hiding place. He had no mind to notice that he was standing openly in front of the elf. It was as if his feet took on a life of their own, leading him right towards the bank of the river.

And now that his eyes locked with the other's...it felt like time had stood still.

In his life, Thorin never believed a phrase such as that...but now he  _experienced_ it. And it was divine.

Purity spilled from the elf. It was as if he was unmarred and Nature had taken great care, tucking him into its arms, keeping away anything that would stain his purity.

His eyes locked with blue ones and by Mahal were they so blue and bright like the stars above! But there was more to it. Deep as they were, Thorin felt something more than ancient knowledge seeping through them.

Conservativeness? Shyness? No, that was not it. Something more—something profound and underlying that framed the very features of the others. What was it? Was it...sadness? But from what?  _What_  grieved him?

Thorin did not know. But he strongly felt an urge of wiping away whatever that disturbed the other. Perhaps he could...if he approached him...

Lips curled to a small smile. His heart was beating rapidly against his chest; ears were soon warming up with an odd sensation arising out of his heart.

Gingerly, he took a step forward and as he did, his smile widened and he became all the more awestruck, now that the other was looking directly  _at_ him.

He opened his mouth, almost tasting the nervousness that took abode in his heart with the first words stuck in his very throat.

He had never spoken with an elf. He had no idea what to say; his training at courteous conversations was suddenly forgotten his mind was drawing a blank but despite it all, Thorin knew he  _had_ to speak. He  _had_ to saw something.

But the words which were at the tip of his tongue never came out. Instead, Thorin's brows furrowed and he found himself reaching out to the other when the elf's eyes grew even wider and he seemed to retreat back further away from him.

"No wait!" Thorin finally called out, desperation flashing in his voice. Please, don't be alarmed."

He pleaded, looking at the other earnestly, hoping that the elf would get to see that he had no ill-intention. However, his wishes were futile. The elf quickly tried getting out off the water, causing less elegant splashes, disturbing the peace all around.

"Please, please do not go!" Thorin found himself begging—an act he had never done before. Perhaps his voice sounded miserable or perhaps what he felt truly was apparent in the way he spoke for the elf did stop. For a moment, he did seem unthreatened by Thorin's presence and simply stared back at him.

It was then that Thorin's heart started beating again. It was then that he again felt that familiar sweet discomfort rummaging his chest, creating storms within and burning his cheeks with a fire he felt inside.

However, the euphoria did not last long. The elf's expressions again morphed into one of utter disdain and as he slowly began retreating away, Thorin's face fell with disappointment.

"No! Please wait," He called back but this time, the elf did not stop. He simply hurried his pace and before Thorin could have the wits to follow, the other disappeared behind the trees, deep into the woods.

Thorin was left standing all alone. The rummage in his heart was now settling down, dulling into a gentle throb, reminding him of what could be his missed opportunity. He felt utterly helpless and futile.

Once more silence engulfed the forest. Gradually, it grew out of its awkwardness but Thorin had not. Long after the elf had left, he still felt that dull ache in his chest but that was not all. There was ache—yes. But the flames that had been ignited deep within still smouldered. The enchantment was still there and would remain for the elf had casted magic upon him. Thorin knew.

Till then, the other was a mystery to Thorin but now, he had become his muse. And his dreams would be haunted by that alluring being and he would welcome it. Thorin knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback? Yes please. :3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own ‘The Hobbit’ and its characters.
> 
> AN: Okay, before I say anything else: I am NOT taking any jabs at any religion/culture. I just am trying to convey that there are some practices which...are just...unfair. Please forgive me if anyone is offended.
> 
> Okay, so now we focus on a bit of Greenwood. Yeah, I decided to add Oropher in it. So this is a warped up timeline and though it’s still In Universe, it’s heavily AU’d. I’m messing with Tolkien’s timelines—I *hope* he doesn’t cringe and digs himself out of his rest to slap me. ^^;
> 
> Thanks to everyone who've reviewed/kudo'd. You all are amazing!

“You may have your leave,” commanded Oropher when the butler poured a cup of tea for him, handing it over to the king. He waited till the other elf was completely out of his sight before he leaned against his chair and gently took small sips out of his cup.

A relaxing sigh soon followed, releasing— for just a moment— the tensions of the day which was about to be hurled towards him with the oncoming court. The very thought of affairs and duties made Oropher shiver a little—his mind bleak from the past hustle regarding trade and other stately matters. But that was not all. Beyond such royal responsibilities lay hidden another mighty one that clouded the king’s mind with worry and gripping his heart in a dull sadness whenever he was reminded of it. And reminded he was, every single day, every single hour digging his heart little by little.

Oropher couldn’t help but feel the pang of harsh reality once more. He winced and breathed in deeply, clenching his jaws in an attempt to soothed the wrenching feeling that now suddenly overpowered him. However, his attempts proved to be futile and he exhaled again—heavily this time.

He realized that not always could he be a successful guardian. Not always could he guard someone from the swipe of Fate. Especially when it came to his son. He would surely stand in front, challenge the cruel blow but in the end, if it was not meant for him, it would bypass him by all means and hit hard on the one, whom it was actually meant for.

Oropher was a mighty king. Undoubtedly. He had set forth and established a kingdom when all thought he would fail. He had went about and fought dragons of the north when all had doubted. He was mighty. However, when it came to his son, he was helpless and that disturbed him.

The morning was bright and crisp and as he sat on his balcony, overlooking the lush realm under his rule, his eyes calmly swept over the little pathway that he could see leading right to the inner quarters. It seemed like he was waiting and even though he tried to relax himself, he could not long ignore the unsettling feeling in his heart that made him fidget and sit up at the edge of his seat.

Suddenly, his eyes flickered over to a spot where the path wound to the right. For a moment, he frowned, keenly gazing at the area as if to make sure that it was _indeed_ what he had thought he had seen.

Before long, his eyes relaxed. The tense in his shoulders were gone and as his certain gaze fell upon a very familiar figure clad in white, Oropher gently sat back.

Thranduil had arrived.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Thranduil walked down the corridors quietly. He was given bows out of courtesy as he passed the guards and somehow he muttered back greetings that he received.

It was least of his intentions to stay back and be the regal and proud self he once had been. However, he was neither in the mood nor in the situation. Hence, he moved along— his steps were measured, his eyes downcast— all the while his heart raced with an unknown sense of trepidation.

He let out an audible gasp and paused just in time, saving himself from colliding against a person who came right in front of him.

He lifted his eyes and with unease settled upon the other elf. As he took in who it was who stood before him, his eyes widened a little before embracing an eerie coolness.

“Adar,” he greeted softly, bowing his head a little and letting his gaze fall below Oropher’s level of sight.

“You took long today, son.” Spoke Oropher, his voice laden with subtle concern. “I have been worried.”

Thranduil blushed at that and quickly apologized, “Forgive me Adar, I did not mean to trouble you.”

“It is not trouble out of which I speak, Thranduil,” Oropher reminded, placing a hand on Thranduil’s biceps causing the younger elf to look up with a mild surprise on his face, only to have his gaze downcast again. “I worry. As I have been the whole day and every time you step out.”

The hand now left Thranduil’s upper arm and curled on his chin, tipping it slightly and prompting Thranduil to meet gazes.

Once more Thranduil lifted his eyes and this time as they locked with orbs of emerald green, he could see clear concern flashing from them as they flickered restlessly all over his face, as if in an attempt to find out if anything had been wrong with him.

“Are you certain that you did not run into trouble?” Oropher asked, his eyes flashing with protectiveness much like his voice.

At that, Thranduil felt his heart leap suddenly in his throat. He somehow managed to nod in reply when in truth, he was indeed uncertain as to how to respond. He had not the least bit idea why he got so confused. He did not know why but his mind suddenly went back to the river bank and upon the strange dwarf who had addressed him. Once more, his heart was filled with the sense of anticipation. It was such an uncomfortable feeling!

Oropher seemed to sense his son’s dilemma. He dropped his hand and said, this time with a bit of firmness in his voice, “Very well then. I expect you to tell me if anything bothers you. I certainly do not want my own son to be in boorish rumours and idle chats.”

Thranduil’s cheeks now burned out of sheer embarrassment. He cussed himself mentally— though for what, he did not know— and tried staying still all the while Oropher searched for any sign of trouble.

“I understand, Adar. You have no cause to worry,” he replied in a calm voice at which, Oropher’s gaze grew harder.

“I pray for not having any,” hoped the other, not even trying to hide the concern which coloured his face.  “I know how hard it weighs upon you and I understand how gruelling it is to maintain such a hard life. Valar forbid any parent to see their children being enslaved in such celibacy! But nothing is to be done here, íon. Our people hold it sacred.”

“As do I, Adar.” Thranduil assured, his eyes flickering once at the acceptation of his status. “I hold dear that which is sacred to our people. Do not worry about me. I have accepted this life. I have no qualms.”

He smiled gently, trying his best to convince Oropher about his wellbeing. Though, the smile was not hearty. It felt strained. It felt more like he was trying to convince _himself_ rather than his father.

Thankfully, his father didn’t notice. And even if he did, he decided not to address it immediately. Oropher smiled back. He looked seemingly relaxed and as he stared back at his son, Thranduil could see a gentleness which mellowed out the worry that was in his father’s face.

“I know that, son. And I am proud of you,” Oropher replied, “I know how alone one feels being parted from his wife. But I dare not pretend to understand what happens when one’s better half is deceased rather than sailing to the West. In that regard, I have been fortunate. And it pains me to see you like this. I wish I could do something. But I am bound.”

It felt like a thousand needles piercing his heart, it felt so quaint and dismal when anyone tried to offer him condolences—even if it had been his own father. For Thranduil knew no one would be able to understand the caged life he lead.

It wasn’t a love marriage that he had with his wife. But they shared respect and to be reminded again and again of his loss...it was _gruelling_. The life he led now was _gruelling_. But the rituals...he could not insult their sacredness.

Hence he kept quiet; he appeared strong.

Truth be told, he detested this forced delicateness. He understood well why Oropher had been so protective of him. Protectiveness was the basic instinct of any parent. And as one himself, Thranduil knew his impulses when it came to his elfling.

He understood why he was restricted to roam outside or even be seen by unknown males around him. He could also understand why Oropher had this habit of shielding him from prying eyes and prodding gossips but it was futile.

Thranduil knew well enough that those who would speak, would speak. And whatever they would say was beyond his control or even that of his father. It was futile for Oropher to treat him like a fragile glass doll.

At that, his heart wrenched suddenly and a small frown tempted to show itself between his brows.

He could not entirely blame Oropher. It was the customs...

Ever since his wife died, people around him forgot his stature. They forgot he was a prince who fought valiantly against the serpents of the north beside his father, who helped Oropher establish his realm, who was unmatched in his skill of handling swords.

Those did not seem to matter anymore. New rules were laid upon him. New restrictions enslaved him. He could no longer wear his richly robes. Only could he wear colours of purity. His teeth would never touch meat, his eyes would not fall upon unseen males, nor could his heart be allowed to yearn again.

But those were the customs. And customs were sacred.

“Forgive me, Adar. I have kept you from court long enough.”

At that, Oropher jerked back to his senses.

“Yes of course, go and change. I shall see you at lunch,” he bid the other for the time being, stepping aside.

Thranduil nodded gently and excused himself.

“Thranduil?”

Just as he had taken a few steps, he heard Oropher calling back, thus making him turn. He wished he didn’t for he was met with an odd look coming off his father’s eyes. And what Oropher spoke next was said with such a strange emotion that Thranduil did not even _dare_ to analyze.

“Yes Adar?”

“I trust you,” came the quiet declaration from Oropher who then began turning away and heading off in the direction of his court.

As for Thranduil, his heart pounded suddenly and his mind again fell on the dwarf who had been staring at him. There was a low fire in his heart, simmering gently with a queer discomfort the more he thought about that strange encounter.

However, he quickly chalked it up as him having had no outside contact for decades and forcefully suppressed down the swelling feeling, churning his chest and mind.

Sighing out, he now hastened his steps, eager to be in the confines of his walls.

 Customs ruled him now. And for that, he could do nothing.

  

* * *

 

“He is gone! He is nowhere to be found!” Cried out a guard, his voice full of panic and anger.

“What? How could you lose him?” Rebuked another. His eyes were just as wide as the other dwarf and much like the first one, his whole body was tense. Fretfulness was evident in him as well. “In which way he went?” he asked desperately, still hoping to not lose the condemned. When he looked at the shrunken face of the other, his heart suddenly grew void with trepidation.

The first dwarf suddenly grew still. He let out a shuddered breath and spoke a single word, which froze the other to his core.

“Greenwood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oropher’s wife sailed to the West. And yeah, he is loving and all but he—like all other elves—abides by their customs. So Thrandy is kinda a rebel here.timid but rebel...um, yeah.
> 
> And he might (will) come off as OOC. I apologize for that. ^^; Just tell me when he gets too wimpy!
> 
> Soooo...thoughts? :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. ^^;
> 
> AN: Okay, the river Isen is extremely unlikely to flow through Mirkwood. I don't remember exactly but another river originated from the Misty Mountains and flowed through Mirkwood, later became the tributary of Isen. But, can we pretend that it turns through Mirkwood? If it sounds hugely absurd, I'll definitely change it.
> 
> Thanks to all you've commented/bookmarked/kudo'd~

The night went sleepless for Thorin. He had built a fire; he had captured pray; he had even made himself a small shelter below boughs of a tree that promised safety and privacy from the rest of the world. Though, where he should've been doing these with utmost caution and stealth, Thorin found himself unable to shrug off an upcoming lethargy that seemed to take over his body and mind.

He did not understand why he had been feeling so apathetic though deep in his heart he could very well guess the reason.

Now as he lay inside his shelter, he sighed out in dismay. A myriad of thoughts circled in his mind and as much as he thought he could avoid the reason why he entered the forest in the first place, a little voice inside his head warned him not to get too comfortable.

His eyes narrowed at that.

Comfort...such was a luxury that seemed improper to him. Thorin closed his eyes and just as he did, bitter images flooded his head that made a scowl grow inadvertently on his face.

He remembered well the night when he decided to move on and never look back. Even if his eyes were closed, before them he could see well enough his chamber engulfed in darkness and low rumbles of voice coming from outside his door. He remembered how his heart had thrummed madly as Thorin sneaked out of his chambers. He could still feel the shiver of fear which had gripped him tight with every hushed step he took.

Slowly, the images disappeared and in their place flashed a bright orange glow followed by a wild array of shadows. Chaos and shouts filled the air. Thorin could hear heavy footsteps just inches away from him. The anger and urgency which the beings felt were quiet evident in the manner of their movement and the way they scuffled made their franticness extremely vivid. Voices echoed all around him— the emotions in them ranging from anger to fury. Thorin could hear desperation; he could hear his name being called as if he was derogatory and of a meagre existence. But that was not all. They spoke something else.

'Heretic! Heretic!'

They called out to him; they taunted him, dared him  _and challenged_ him to show his face. More crackling sounds of fire entered his ears. More could he feel the growing heat of flames, blazing all around himself.

The chants increased. They became angrier, nastier. Shouts turned to growls. Flames spread to fires. Clanks of weapons increased, louder became the heaviness in steps.

Thorin's eyes shot open and he sat up, breathing heavily while his heart sped with an inhuman pace. His eyes were wide with clear reminiscence of that fateful night and the more he recollected, the more he felt a dreadful chill running past his spines.

He exhaled deeply and ran a hand through his mottled hair as he gingerly looked around. The forest felt safe, so far. However Thorin knew that he was risking too much. He had already risked enough by staying in one place for more than a day. Any time they could find him and if they did...

Sighing out again, Thorin came out of his shelter.

He needed to move. He needed to bury any evidence of him ever living there and he needed to make haste. However, in the midst of his task, Thorin couldn't help but feel a slight tug in his heart. Even though survival was a major priority, still his mind couldn't help but go back to the previous morning.

He had tempted his luck. He had tempted it long enough.

It was the loveliest face he had ever seen. Elves were known for their natural beauty but  _this_ elf had such uniqueness about him that made it very hard for Thorin to take his eyes off of him.

The elf was humbled but Thorin felt the faintest hint of arrogance exuding from him. Arrogance or perhaps pride. Perhaps in the bygone days the elf was something. Perhaps he was of noble birth or maybe it was simply a figment of Thorin's imagination.

But the elf was alluring.

He was so close...a few steps more and Thorin would be face to face with that being.

The way he stared back with those big shining orbs of blue, the way surprise marred his magnificent face made a very small tremble run past Thorin's body.

Suddenly, Thorin felt an odd heaviness in his heart. His mood grew sombre and the more he lulled himself to continue with his work, the more he found his thoughts being dominated by that elf.

He hadn't even known his name...

And Thorin knew not whether he would return again for he had seen Thorin staring at him. He had not hidden the shock from his face and the manner with which he practically bolted caused Thorin serious doubt whether the elf would return again.

However, there was something very odd about him.

Ritually the elf came and took bath in the same river...ritually, he was in white. And each day, he would not fail to pray to the sun. And what baffled Thorin the most was the fact that he was always  _alone._

Thorin suddenly jerked back to his present, even rebuking himself for losing track of time. He hadn't the luxury of being distracted. He  _needed_ to finish up and move, if he ever wanted to be alive.

The sunlight was extraordinarily bright and warm that day. Thorin gingerly made way along the trees and beside the river. It was always a good idea to have a water source nearby and the flow of the river made it easier for him to navigate through the forest.

He vaguely wondered whether he would get to see the elf again. Maybe for one last time...but the bittersweet feeling he had in his heart soon was suppressed and Thorin went on moving.

He had tempted luck long enough.

* * *

Thranduil stopped bathing and abruptly looked up when faint sound rustling of bushes entered his ears. The breeze was not strong enough to cause such a huge murmur of leaves and all of a sudden, his senses grew highly alert as keen eyes searched for the source of the noise.

The leaves rustled even more. Thranduil's eyes scanned the entire area, his ears perked and sharp as his whole body became rigid with focus. The bush  _moved_ and Thranduil's eyes narrowed suspiciously _._  It seemed that there was something or  _someone_ behind them.

The bushes moved even more, movement increasing gradually as the sound of leaves became louder and louder. Thranduil's heart began beating with live anticipation. He drew in his breath and frowned in the direction, anxiously hoping that it was but a mere animal and that too one who would cause no threat to him. His body was stiff and tensed, his breathing was shallow and his heart was gripped with a cold and dull concern which spread through all over his chest and body, chilling them a little from the inside.

Now more than ever he had wished for a weapon nearby. Now more than ever had he truly hated the enforced celibacy forbidding him from holding any weapon—  _even_  for self-defence. After all, when one was not to venture outside except when expected, why would he carry a weapon?

The leaves gave off one last rustle, followed by a heavy sound upon the ground, muffling the scrunching of dry leaves which littered the floor. It was then that Thranduil saw what had caused such a huge commotion.

His eyes widened when they fell upon the very same figure he had encountered just the previous day.

That...that dwarf! Had he been observing Thranduil all along?

His heart suddenly skipped a beat and was gripped with anxiety which was now slowly receding, giving way to anger that began to burn at the hearth of his core.

His eyes narrowed dangerously and out of pure instinct, Thranduil raised his chin and drew his shoulders back as he glared at the other.

The dwarf took some time to leap on his feet but as soon as his eyes locked with Thranduil's, alertness disappeared from his body and the dwarf stared back with a strange and blank look on his face.

However, the vague look quickly disappeared and the dwarf's eyes sparked as he was pulled back into attention. He opened his mouth to say something but before he could eve do so, Thranduil sharply cut him off.

"Your audacity is enthralling," he said coldly, his body still tensed and stiff with alert. At the slightest hint of danger, Thranduil had every intention to save himself in a hand to hand combat and get away at the quickest of chances.

However, the dwarf merely blinked and started shaking his head, as if to deny any accusation Thranduil was pointing at him. That he was quite baffled by Thranduil's words was clearly showing on his face.

When he got no answer, Thranduil seethed in anger and spoke again in a warning tone, "How dare you spy on me? Who are you? What brings you to this forest?"

"It is not my intention to spy on you, Elf," said the dwarf in a firm and confident tone. He was back to his full attention but even then, he kept his hands raised in the air as if to prevent Thranduil from lashing out at him. "It is by pure accident that I stumbled upon you. I am not a voyeur—"

"So then why did you stare yesterday? What cause could you have to see someone bathing? I am unaware of dwarven customs but surely sneaking and spying isn't one of them!"

At that, the dwarf's eyes suddenly flashed with an indescribable emotion, mellowing his features and bringing forth another kind of light in those dark orbs.

Thranduil felt astonished, he felt confused. This dwarf gave off no hostile air but why was he so eager to see him? Why was Thraduil's own heart beating with an uncomfortable warmth?

"I was drawn to the waters by splashes," the dwarf admitted. "But then I came upon you...and I could not take my eyes off. I did not mean to invade your privacy. It was not my intention but my mind failed me. I apologize for such a boorish act."

He paused shortly, letting his eyes meet Thranduil's. His stare...it was so dark and intense and powerful, yet so honest...Thranduil sighed in, shuddering as he felt like being sucked into those intense dark orbs.

"But I do not apologize for admiring you," the dwarf spoke again and this time his voice was so full of emotions that Thranduil couldn't help but feel another quiver running down his spine.

He quickly tore his eyes away. He could feel the starting of a fire in his chest which was soon spreading to his neck and ears, making him uncomfortable and restless—exactly as he felt the day prior to this one.

He sighed out and clenched his teeth.

That feeling was back. That feeling he felt just after meeting the dwarf. His heart was thrumming rapidly, his breaths uneven, his cheeks burning—

_No! No, no, no!_

He should not be having such feelings. It was forbidden! It was unthinkable. It was against what he swore. It was  _wrong_! Yet he felt them. Yet he felt a wave of emotions rolling over him. And he couldn't stop feeling...

_Valar forgive me._

He couldn't stop feeling!

"As for my intention of coming here, they are my own. I wish neither to disclose them nor to trouble you."

With that, he turned and began walking away.

As Thranduil was left behind, he felt a slight tinge of sympathy for the dwarf. By the looks of his dishevelled appearance, he seemed troubled. Under normal circumstances, Thranduil could care less. So then why did he wish to get more information out of the dwarf? Why had he thought that there was maybe something other than his own needs that kept the dwarf here in place?

Under normal circumstances, he would care less about any wandering dwarf in their forest. He would never give a second thought about the dwarf and his troubles...which was why he himself was shocked as he asked in a low tone, "Where will you go next?"

He half expected for the dwarf  _not_ to hear him but when he paused and turned towards him, Thranduil felt that same burning in his chest and neck.

The dwarf smiled warmly and Thranduil damned his stars for feeling a swing in his heart.

"Somewhere safe and less intrusive," he replied and turned back again, beginning to walk forward.

Thranduil did not know what had overcome him. He did not know what damned spirit had possessed him but he found himself calling out to the dwarf and when the dwarf again met his eyes, Thranduil had not taken into effect the consequences of what he was about to say.

"Come with me. You shall be safe."

And when the dwarf's eyes lit up in gratitude and his face broke into a mesmerized smile, Thranduil felt his heart throbbing with a sweet ache he never felt before. He felt going against everything that he was forced to abide by over the decade. He felt he would have to pay dearly for breaking the sacred custom of his people...but the dwarf clearly needed his help. And despite how much he tried and pretended, meeting the dwarf indeed had affected him in some way or the other which Thranduil dared not to imagine.

Suddenly, he grew conscious. His heartbeat slowed down in its face, weighed down by his conscience.

What was he doing? He was going against his customs. Already he had broken one just by being in the vicinity of the male longer than what was allowed. Now he was inviting the dwarf? Where did he intend to keep him? Certainly not in the palace! In a talan? But what if someone saw? What if someone found out?

However, there was no time for second thoughts. His words had already escaped his mouth and now he could not take them back. That would be utterly disgraceful and despicably heinous.

With a deep sigh, he began getting out of the river and covering himself in his robes. Then, after a while, he faced the other and motioned for him to follow.

Throughout the silent walk back, he felt the same fire rekindling in his chest. A voice at the back of his mind constantly reminded him that he was making a grave mistake by going against what was considered to be sacred. But despite it all, he had not the heart to send the dwarf back.

As they neared the cavern, Thranduil's heart began pounding again. He prayed that he'd be forgiven for helping one who needed his assistance. He sincerely hoped that he had still not crossed the border of that what was right in the eyes of his people.

With time, he would find himself in events which would forever change his life.

 

%MCEPASTEBIN%

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Too fast? Too OOC? Too much? D: Please review.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot.
> 
> AN: Garbled timeline/geography aside, I tried to explore more of Thranduil's thoughts in this chapter. Not to mention, a build up of some cool Thorinduil later on. ;) And I guess I kinda explained the title in a messed up way. But...I'm not gonna lie. I felt really bad writing the last part. And I am not a crier, people! I really hope that this chapter makes you feel what it is supposed to make you feel. Any questions you might have, shoot! :)
> 
> A huge thanks to everyone who have encouraged me with this fic! :)

Thranduil looked around cautiously, weary of any prying eyes that might loom nearby as he led the dwarf into a small hut. By the looks of it, it had been unused for quite some time but usability aside, this was a perfect place for the dwarf to take refuge...and for Thranduil to be safe from idle rumours.

He eyed the other suspiciously while the dwarf examined the place. After a while, the other faced Thranduil and gave him a small and curt nod, his lips curling into a smile.

At that, Thranduil quickly guarded himself even more and raised his chin, as if to show the other that it was merely an obligation of bringing him there. Not because of the sympathy he felt in his now rumbling heart.

The dwarf seemed to be in extreme gratitude. He faced Thranduil fully and locking his eyes with the other, he spoke in a sincere tone, "I appreciate your kindness, yet I do not know your name."

"It is not important as the kindness you speak of," Thranduil replied haughtily with a small frown, letting his gaze linger on the dwarf for a mere moment before he rolled his eyes and stared in front—to the dwarf's side.

His eyes twitched a little in annoyance when instead of a retort, the dwarf let out a small chuckle.

"Yet here you still linger, not even bothering to know mine," The dwarf said with an amused tone at which Thranduil's eyes flared up for the briefest of moments before they became icy cool yet again, dousing the fire of irritability he felt towards the other.

Suddenly, his shoulders stiffened ever so slightly at a dull sound coming from his side. It was slow, steady and without the need for any urgency and by the continuous rhythm of it hitting the ground with a unique heaviness, Thranduil could easily guess that he was being approached and that too, the dwarf showed no traces of rush as he had done so the day before.

His heart all of a sudden skipped a beat as a slow fire began simmering within the depths of his heart.

There was no rush...in fact, there was deliberateness. Was it because the dwarf thought he wouldn't move aside?

Thranduil frowned.

Was it because...the dwarf  _sensed_ that Thranduil would not move aside? How was it that he felt that Thranduil would welcome his advance? How was it that he hoped Thranduil's sympathy would expand more than it was meant for and how  _dare_ he to presume that Thranduil would allow the dwarf to invade his space?

The sound was growing louder and louder by the moment and the closer it got, the harder he found himself keeping his own composure. His chest was pounded by his heart, his ears were sore and hot and the corners of his mouth felt getting tighter and tighter by the second, as if it was being pulled by his equally warm cheeks—the heat from which was radiating all over to his face.

It was at that moment a thought flashed in his mind, causing his heart to beat with double the speed while the warmth in it grew despicably uncomfortable spreading to his chest, cheeks and neck.

Why  _wouldn't_ the dwarf? He was moving closer but shouldn't Thranduil recede to give the dwarf a hint? Wasn't this what he  _wished_ to do? Then why  _hadn't_ he? Why hadn't Thranduil's legs felt light and nimble as it usually did? Why was it that his legs felt like being held against their will and be firmly planted on the ground?

He sighed out, trying to relieve the pressure that was growing more and more within his heart and throat. His palms felt cold as he crossed his arms tightly across his chest. His breathing was threatening to become shallow as anger and inner turmoil plumed through his entire being. He felt suffocated all of a sudden. His chest felt constricted by a strong grip of emotions that Thranduil did not dare to understand. His fingers twitched in an instinctive motion and Thranduil bit down his urge to place his palms against his heart which was now racing so hard that it threatened to come out of his ribs.

Finally, the dwarf stopped. His feet were literally a mere inches away from Thranduil's own. Out of the corner of his eye, Thranduil could see that the dwarf's feet were firm and strong against the ground, reminding him the fact that the dwarf apparently had all the time in the world while he stood in silence, waiting for Thranduil to respond.

Despite a strong urge of looking back took Thranduil over, he forced himself to glare at his front, as if he was the least bit affected. He told himself that he  _was_ unaffected, that the presence of the dwarf was as significant as any stones or pebbles lying on the floor.

However, as much as he would tell himself those words repeatedly, his mind bought not a single bit of it. When Thranduil had realized  _that_ , his glare grew stronger and the anger he felt now doubled and grew undirected.

His eyes flickered when the feet moved, shuffling a sheet of dried leaves gathered over the years. However, the light hope of the dwarf moving away—that had peeped out in Thranduil's heart—quickly faded when instead of moving back, the dwarf took two more steps till he was standing directly in front of Thranduil.

The elf sneered and hissed at the other with venom in his tone, "Certainly you will not find any firewood or food for the night in my face,  _Master_  dwarf!"

He narrowed his eyes before looking away only to have his eyes grow in surprise when the dwarf laughed again.

"You have quite a sharp tongue Master Elf," he said in a light tone...almost as if he was amused.

As a reaction, Thranduil sucked in a breath sharply and his eyes flared with rage once more before he glared straight into the dwarf's face.

How  _insolent_ could one be?

Yet at the intimidating form of scrutiny, the dwarf did not seem to be wavered. He simply let a corner of his lips tug upward in a smirk and went on, "Not what one would expect to hear from the same being who seems so tranquil and peaceful praying in the river."

At that, Thranduil narrowed his eyes dangerously and immediately took a few steps backwards as if he had just touched a hot iron.

"Your expectation depends upon you!" He hissed, breathing sharply just trying to contain the anger which seemed wanting to erupt out of him. "It is not on me to portray what you want to see being portrayed and neither am I obligated to please your ears! You needed shelter. I gave you shelter. This does not require us to divulge about ourselves to each other!"

He had hoped the dwarf would retreat. He had sincerely believed that sensing his hostility, the dwarf would leave him alone and move away.

Instead of doing so, the dwarf closed their distances with long strides and ignoring Thranduil's scandalized look, he brought his face dreadfully close, making Thranduil to flinch inwardly and said through his grit teeth, "Providing shelter to the enemy of your kin gives all the more reason for  _you_ to know about me,  _Elf_. The fact that you do  _not_ speak either of your  _massive_  sense of caution  _or_  that you are afraid to find out about new people in your life! And seeing the way you carry yourself, I'd say it is rather the latter!"

"I'd bother  _if_ you were in my proximity! Seeing that you are not,  _Dwarf_ , gives me no reason to get to know you other than what I need to know!" Thranduil said, fuming at the rough tone the dwarf used upon him. Years of forced humility seemed to have no effect on him and as he sneered right in the dwarf's face, his eyes sparked with fire of recent bygone days.

All of a sudden, he felt that same familiar power of royalty surge through his veins. The dwarf had seemed taken aback at Thranduil's outburst and taking advantage of that, Thranduil continued, "And now that you have guessed a little about me, you will have to stay content with that! I do not wish to bore myself in  _enchanting_  you with my tales!"

He gasped out audibly at the feel of a pressure on his wrists. He looked down at the cause of such pressure. As he did, his eyes widened with pure shock when he realized calloused fingers around his wrist, before he brought them up once more to meet the other.

The dwarf had a smug look about his face now that he had managed to cease Thranduil's flow of words. Before long, the look melted into that honest and mystified expression once more.

"Your tales will not enchant me," he said in a raspy voice, eyes shining with nothing but admiration and mystique. " _You_ enchant me. Your tales will all but increase my wonder for you!"

"Release me," Thranduil scoffed in between sharp and shallow breaths, twisting his wrist as a look of disgust marred his face. His heart was colliding extremely hard against his chest. The flames he felt within was now spreading to every part of his body like wild fire, consuming him, obliterating whatever semblance of mind he had at that moment.

"Why do you pray to the sun?" The dwarf asked, paying no heed to Thranduil's discomfort.

"None of your business."

"Why do you come alone?" The dwarf insisted on.

"I'm not obligated to tell you," Thranduil twisted his wrist violently, looking away sharply from the other to his side. The dwarf's gaze was so powerful, so intense as if he was willing to read Thranduil's very  _mind._  Even from that angle, Thranduil was painfully conscious of those intense dark eyes which he felt burning on his face.

"To whom do you pray? To my knowledge, elves do not pray to the sun."

"Your knowledge is limited!" Thranduil replied with jest, his lips curling to a snarl as his breathing got shallower with the burning rage within him.

"Enlighten me!" The dwarf was relentless. He released Thranduil's wrist, much to the other's relief but even then, he kept himself extremely close to Thranduil—such that the elven prince could  _feel_ Thorin's very breath upon him.

"I wish not!"

The dwarf seemed undeterred. Question after question he threw at Thranduil and each one seemed to sear the elf to his very core.

"Is it a ritual? Is it an obligation? Is it customary for you?"

"Step away!"

"Why then do you always come and pray? Why you alone? You live alone? You have family? Why do I see no one with you? Why do you wear only white?"

"I said, step away!" Thranduil warned the other, his eyes flaring up at the mention of his choice of clothing. His heartbeat was now maddening; blood flowed to his ears and cheeks. His breaths became shorter and shorter still. His whole face trembled out of fury.

"Why do you keep yourself guarded? Why do you refuse to meet me in the eye? Your postures say you are proud and haughty as does your words. Why then do you force yourself to look away when I try catching your gaze?"

"Stop."

"Is it your nature? No. Your words are sharp and strong. Is it humility? I see no traces of it now! Are you normally submissive and humbled? No! Or is it only I with whom you do not wish to catch gazes?"

"You tread precariously!"

"Why don't you wear colours?"

That very question stunned Thranduil to silence. He inhaled deeply and all of a sudden, he found himself staring at the stigma he was forced upon—questions which haunted him in the early years of his celibacy.

His head felt light teeming with the words of the wise he was made to hear after the death of his wife; his ears heard no other thing but the loud sound of his heart beat. He opened his mouth to retort but no words came out. He willed his lips to move but they only trembled. His eyes were horrified and round with the realization he was once more compelled to face.

Perhaps the dwarf had realized that he had touched a nerve. Or maybe he had sensed that he indeed stepped over his limits. He said nothing further and took a few respectable steps back, giving Thranduil some room for him to gather his bearings.

However, what had been breached was far beyond the dwarf's comprehension.

Before his eyes, Thranduil clearly saw fleeting images—ghosts of the past haunting him, hurling towards him with full speed. He saw the pain stricken look on his late wife's face when she whispered words of apology to him when the nurse placed a small blanketed bundle in Thranduil's arms. He saw her pale and blank face after her internal injuries claimed her. He saw and heard elves gathering and singing a sombre tune around the river Isen, he heard his own voice chanting words of purity, of humility and a new life. He saw himself embracing the whiteness. He saw himself forsaking his right for the throne—unless absolute necessity arose. He saw his life changing drastically...and what he desperately tried not to be reminded of, the dwarf had done so in a meagre number of words.

However...he was to embrace such a life! He had embraced; he _had_  embraced! He had no qualms in wearing what he did. He had no qualms in doing what he did! Then what was that which came to his mind when the dwarf asked the very first question? Was it doubt? Doubt of his current standard of living?

His eyes widened with pure horror.

No! He could  _not_  doubt. He could  _not_  question! The dwarf knew nothing! He knew nothing about their customs and how sacred they held. Thranduil couldn't afford to get swept up by the other's words! It was against customs. Against the religion of his people. It was wrong. It was  _heresy_!

Quickly, without a word, he turned sharply on his heels and began to walk away.

From the distance, he could hear the dwarf's voice floating to his ears, "Why do you restrict yourself? Know who I am. Know who  _Thorin_  is! Talk to me, see me, wear  _colour_! It is  _your_  life!"

* * *

His heart panged with a sharp grief. The dwarf had seen more in him in just a few moments...he had tried persuading Thranduil to break his custom.

Thranduil grit his teeth and hastened his pace.

Much to his humiliation, the dwarf had almost succeeded.

Hesitant hands opened the closet before trembling fingers sorted through garments of white, stopping just in front of a trunk tucked safely away in the depths.

For moments, the owner simply knelt in front, wondering whether or not to open it. However whatever amount of hesitance he felt slowly started fading away as he opened the trunk and took out a clothing— a robe among many that was neatly kept inside, once loved but now unused.

Drawing in a shuddering breath, Thranduil picked himself up and headed over to his bed where he sprawled the garment. Blue eyes roamed over the fabric— shimmering in gold with intricate designs sewn with great care.

He did not know how long he stood before it, simply gazing,  _reminiscing_ of the days which would never come.

Sighing, he nimbly lifted a palm up and gently placed it over the rich fabric. He closed his eyes, feeling the lush of thread and silk beneath his palm. He pressed the palm further into the fabric and ran it over— his pace nice and slow— while he felt and  _soaked_  the richness of his past through his palm and finger tips.

Gradually his eyes opened, smeared with a mix of wistfulness and yearning. His fingers curled around the garment. In a smooth and slow motion, he brought it up against him and went to stand in front of a grand and decorated mirror where he looked at himself.

Countless thoughts ran in his mind, countless wishes sparkled in his eyes.

All of a sudden, his orbs darkened with a sombre note. His hands dropped down, taking the robe callously away from his self. His heart panged with a realization he had never truly forgotten. There was a reason why that trunk contained his past. There was a reason why it was kept hidden behind his current wear. Yes, those too were rich and luscious— soft and beautiful made of the finest of silks but they were never the same. They were devoid of any gold. They bore no intricate stitches. They were plain and white. Pure: what he was now expected to be.

With the same gentleness as before, Thranduil began folding the garment with great care. He walked over to the trunk again where he carefully placed the garment back. Finally, with one more lingering look he shut the lid and the closet.

He had to be pure...what he was now expected to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot.
> 
> AN: It's about progress. Yep. We are finally getting into it, people. Thorinduil! \m/
> 
> It might seem a bit fast but...this will be a short project. That's why I am not drawing it out and out and out and ouuuut...but if it feels unnatural, tell me. I'll change it ASAP.
> 
> And...I banged up Isen’s significance. ^^; I mean, I know that it is Anduin which flows through Mirkwood but Isen sounds cooler! That is NOT an excuse to change the geography but guys, help me! I’m really confused. Should I change the name to Anduin? 
> 
> Thank you all who've commented/kudo'd/bookmarked~

Thranduil quietly sighed out in annoyance, wishing nothing more than to simply go back to his chambers and read something— _anything_ —which was worth his time. He straightened up when he noticed Oropher's measuring glance upon him which flickered slightly down towards his knees where stood Legolas—Thranduil's only son—looking wide eyed at the pandemonium happening at the moment.

Yule was upon them and for most where it was a matter of joy and celebration, to Thranduil it was nothing more than a fuss when he knew he was a futile addition in the current situation.

Elleth gushed over new clothes, smiled and laughed as they decided which colours to wear to impress their counterparts. Ellyn took their time deciding which fabric would suit them best, what to wear other than their daily colours of green and brown. Suggestions poured in advising how to braid hairs, _whether_  to braid or not, how to set it, how to leave it free.

The king was not excluded from such commotions. He too was splattered with suggestions by councillors and tailors who argued how beautiful the gold would look upon his fair skin versus how silver would bring out his gorgeous emerald eyes. Even the little prince wasn't above smothering.

Thranduil's lips tugged upwards a little as he kept staring ahead to the maddening rush occurring before him. Once, he too would be in that frenzy picking out clothes alongside his wife. He would look lavishing in red— she would say—that it would make him shine more than he already did. And she was right. He did look good in red. He did stand out amongst crowd endowed with brightness on that particular night.

His exhaled gently as his heart started throbbing with a dull ache.

But those were bygone days.

His eyes slid to his side and soon, they were met with concern gazes which were coming from his father.

Oropher narrowed them ever so slightly, asking without words if Thranduil was alright. His lips parted and licked themselves before Oropher flicked a brow, urging Thranduil to bear a bit more patience, before his eyes roamed down to Thranduil's knees once more reminding the single father that Legolas would be disappointed if he found his father hurrying off in his chambers.

Thranduil let his eyes fall on his son who was enthusiastically shouting out the garments which caught his attention, giggling in excitement as an elfling of his age should. Thranduil sighed and brought his gaze up once more to meet that of his father's. He blinked once with the barest hint of a nod, assuring Oropher that all was well. At that, Oropher seemed genuinely relieved and once again moved his attention to an Ellyn who was suggesting a fine robe she had made for the king.

Thranduil was left to stare aimlessly at the crowd. Their cheers of rejoice was slowly dimming out and instead of chirps of many voices, Thranduil's mind could hear a deep one which grew louder and louder by the second till it was the only thing that rang in his mind.

_Why then do you always come and pray?_

It had been a few days since they met but the words were so clear that it was as if that dwarf was there right in front of him! His heart panged all of a sudden, numbing to a light throb as a searing sensation was building up within him.

_Why you alone? You live alone? You have family? Why do I see no one with you?_

The searing feeling was growing hotter and hotter, airing a fire which was now spreading all over him. The beats of his heart became wilder by the moment as his whole chest felt like being rummaged by a massive storm wrecking havoc in his mind.

That dwarf's voice...it was so powerful that it collided againsthim. His words were so sharp and so affecting that Thranduil couldn't help but feel  _pierced_  by them.

Though, it was true. Why indeed was there no one to accompany him in the morning? Why him alone?

Suddenly, Thranduil's eyes widened with pure horror as the effect of his thoughts sunk in him.

What was he doing?

He rebuked himself mentally, trying his best to suppress the very mention of the thought that had ran in his mind.

Why was he persuaded by that dwarf's words? What did he know? He knew nothing! To him the elven custom was as foreign as he was to them! He could not understand the significance of their rituals. But Thranduil  _did._ He did and he knew well enough that this was the right thing to do! So then why was he questing himself? Why  _now_?

He breathed again and again, oblivious to the glances given to him by his son. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake the thought of that dwarf out of his head! In fact, the more he tried, more he heard the other's words echoing in his mind.

_Why do you pray to the sun? To whom do you pray?_

His heart started beating even faster. Hs chest burned, the fire spreading to his cheeks and neck. It became harder for him to breathe, as if a great weight in his chest was forcing him to take shallow breaths which only insinuated the fire within.

_Why do you wear only white?_

A sharp gasp escaped his lips as he was jerked back into the present. He tried to keep a straight face and attend the gathering. However, for some reason, the bantering of the crowd now quietened down to murmurs which died out very quickly.

A frown crossed Thranduil's temples. He waited to see if it was something which distracted the crowd but he discarded that idea very quickly.

The entire Woodland Realm had grown pin-drop silent. Shock and surprise coloured their faces which soon died down with the onset of solemn expressions that took their place.

All eyes were upon him. Instead of holding empathy or carefulness as they normally did, they held sharpness and condescends as they regarded Thranduil.

At that point, Thranduil felt extremely self-conscious. He looked over to his father inquisitively but all questions from his eyes disappeared the moment he realized where his father had his sight on. His hand.

An incredible urge to just turn his head and look swept Thranduil over but all of a sudden, he found himself unable to do so. His head could not move. His eyes could not tear away from his father's face and even when he could hear Legolas' curious voice, asking him if he liked something, Thranduil found himself unable to move. He  _dreaded_  to move.

Legolas was still staring at him with bright big eyes. He was asking something but Thranduil's ears couldn't register.

After some time, he released a breath and ever so slowly looked down at his hand. At what he saw, his eyes widened with dread as a cold chill ran down his spine.

He was holding a robe— decorated by threads of gold and silk while in its inner lining, was stitched a lush fabric of red silk which paled even the flames of the brightest of fires.

He looked up, his whole form trembling as the crown began murmuring once more. His father was now calling out to him. His son was still asking what was wrong with him but it was the harsh tone of an elf that finally snapped Thranduil back to the present.

"Surely he does not mean to wear it?"The elf spoke trying very hard to subdue the rebuke with respect.

Before Thranduil could even open his mouth, he heard another one speak with much less humility, "He is not allowed. It is against ritual."

"It is an impure thought in itself, what was he thinking?"

"Who handed it to him?"

"The prince but His Highness took it himself!"

"He can't! Has he forgotten his oath?"

"What has gotten into him?"

Thranduil's trembles increased. The voices were becoming too overwhelming. Their stares were becoming too intense, as if they intended to scorch him with the rage they felt towards him.

He didn't know what happened. He didn't remember reaching out for any clothes, he didn't remember even approaching for the ones which were splayed! Was he that desperate? Was he that eager to forfeit the life of purity he pledged to lead?

Legolas was confused. Oropher was calling out to him. There was pity in his voice but there was admonish also. He didn't approve of Thranduil's act.  _Thranduil_ didn't approve of his own act! What indeed was he thinking? It was heinous!

He couldn't take it anymore. His quivering fist dropped the robe and before anyone could react any further, Thranduil turned sharply on his heels and took off. He didn't remember thinking anything, nor did he remember the direction where his feet carried him.

He only knew that he ran and all the while that he did, words of a rich and deep voice haunted his mind.

* * *

 

"What are you doing?"

Thorin was startled when an unexpected voice reverberated in his tiny hut. He whirled in the direction of the door, his eyes widening with extreme surprise when they fell on someone he least expected to say.

"Pardon?" He asked, taking in the form that never left his dreams. But instead of the calm and ethereal being, this time Thorin was met with an entire different form.

"What are you doing to me?" Snarled the elf as he took long strides towards him.

"What do you mean?" Thorin found himself asking half heartedly as his entire attention was drawn towards the other.

His hair was dishevelled and wind-blown. His chest was heaving up and down massively and with every breath that he took in and out, Thorin could hear a storm in the elf's breath. And his eyes...his eyes were shining so greatly that they shamed even the sun-gleamed waters of an ocean. But there was no delicateness in those eyes nor was there any defence. Instead Thorin could see anger. He could see hurt, desperation, frustration and...and a desire to break free.

And it would sound extremely selfish but honestly, never before had Thorin found someone so beautiful!

Before he could say anything, the elf crumpled on the ground before him and for a great while, he looked towards the ground as if there was some answer written there which only the elf could see.

Gradually, the heave in the elf's shoulders lessened. His breathing relaxed and the quivers which took the other over out of some unsaid excitement was gently disappearing as the elf seemingly began calming down.

Finally the elf lifting his head, his eyes still downcast on his lap. His lips parted and he mumbled something under his breath. He took his time tearing his eyes away from his lap and ever so slowly, he brought them up.

And as he gazed into Thorin's eyes, the other found his breath hitching in his throat when he saw those blue orbs looking intently right at him.

No more was there anger in them. No more was there conflict or doubt which normally reflected in them. Instead, they held meekness—a shyness of some sort as if he was debating whether he was right or not.

Soon those orbs closed. The being leant towards him, slowly bringing his palm up and with every bit of hesitation in the beginning he rested it upon Thorin's chest.

Thorin closed his own eyes as well, trying to suppress the deep thrumming of his heart which became all the more erratic with the elf's touch. A profound sense of mirth engulfed him, sweeping him up and carrying him in its flow as he felt warmed by those same emotions which he felt whenever he thought about this elf.

He leaned closer and buried his face and nose into the other's hair, inhaling the fresh scent that soothed him greatly. He brought his arms up slowly and with the greatest care, wrapped them around the other.

At that, the elf tensed at first at the very contact but eventually relaxed into the touch as he brought his other hand up and placed it on Thorin's broad and muscular back. For a while, they both stayed that way—quiet and content in each other's arms. After some time, Thorin pulled away and his heart twisted with a mixture of varied emotion when he saw a strange longing and disappointment in the elf's eyes.

Soon enough, Thorin found himself on his knees yet again as his palms tenderly rose up and cupped the other's cheeks, tilting his head slightly while he leaned in closer.

The elf's breath hitched in the beginning but quickly, he released it and breathed in and out with a fast pace, the warm air hitting Thorin's face as he gently closed the distance between them.

Thorin moved his face in such a way that their lips brushed lightly against each other. That alone sent strange chills down Thorin's heart and mind as his heart raced with an erratic rhythm.

The elf's breath was short and heavy and as Thorin once more leaned towards him, he felt his face tingle with anticipation each time a warm gust of air hit his face which became more and more frequent with the lessening of inches between them.

Finally, their lips met—gently at first—before Thorin pressed his lips over the other's, caressing and stroking each one of the elf's with utmost love and care.

His hands moved up into the long silken strands, brushing them lightly before sliding over to the small of the elf's back which straightened slightly at the touch, only to relax once the elf knew it was safe.

Their kiss deepened. Thorin moved his lips smoothly and gently, lapping over the other's, tasting him, cherishing him and relishing the feel of the surprisingly soft pink flesh which moved against his own with a perfect harmony.

Thorin tilted his head, teasing the other with his tongue, making the elf moan in pleasure before he parted his lips even more inviting Thorin in to explore further.

Thorin breathed into the kiss and inched forward settling him even closer to the elf so that now their bodies were pressed against each other. The warmth that emanated from the elf made his heart flutter all the more as the mix of emotions he felt grew stronger and stronger by the moment. His warm tongue rolled over the other's cool one, brushing it, stroking it patiently and gently when the initial urge for dominance he was met with soon subsided away and the other let him take the lead.

Thori's hands travelled further down to the curve of the other's waist, pulling him close towards him, placing his hand over the perfect lines of the elf's body which stretched because of that particular action. He began caressing the curve of the elf's waist, enjoying the little moan which escaped the other's throat when he dared to slide the hand further inwards towards the other's stomach.

The elf too responded by gingerly placing another hand on Thorin's arm, running his fingers along its length before bringing it down to his chest where it lingered for a few moments before sliding up and down over it.

After sometime, the kiss slowed down and they both broke free when the burning in their lungs could not be ignored any further.

For moments, none uttered a single word. Both relished the roll of emotions sweeping over them as they breathed heavily, revelling upon what they did.

After a while Thorin looked up, his heart pounding against his chest when he found the elf shyly looking back at him. His eyes were shining with an unmentionable emotion. There was shyness, there was some hesitation but amidst all those, there was something else which caused those orbs to burn brighter than they did ever before. Life.

And as for himself...Mahal granted him more that what he wished for. Thorin simply could not be any happier.

He smiled and took in the other, half expecting the elf to lash out in a fit of rage. However, when instead of doing that, the elf slowly stood up and headed for the door with a strange dazed pace, Thorin's face fell and his heart panged with a sudden panic which took him over.

Was he wrong? Had he moved in too fast?

However, the elf paused and as he looked back straight into Thorin's eyes, all of Thorin's doubts disappeared and once more he found himself feeling warm and  _rich_ as he clearly saw consent and  _gratitude_ in the elf's eyes. And as the other's face broke into a subtle smiled, Thorin needed no other sign to know that he had been accepted...and he truly felt delight after days of torment.

The elf was beginning to leave and suddenly, Thorin remembered that he hadn't even known the other's name.

"Wait please!" he called out at which, the elf paused in his tracks and looked back at him with a little tilt of his head. Thorin took it as a cue and asked ahead, "I do not know your name and I suspect that you remember mine."

At that, the elf's eyes flickered towards the ground momentarily as a deep shade of red appeared on his cheeks.

"I remember yours, Thorin," he said softly, gazing towards the other with an odd shyness about him, at which, Thorin's lips broke into a hearty smile. The elf spoke again, "Call me Thranduil."

"Thranduil..." Thorin said almost to himself, loving how the named rolled out of his tongue. "Will you come again?" He asked with hesitance, a part of him wishing that it was not merely a fleeting fancy for the other. For Mahal knew how serious  _he_ was about him.

He eagerly awaited Thranduil's answer, boring the elf with intense gaze of his own all the while he prayed earnestly not to be faced with the cold reality of rejection. However, instead of ignoring the other, when the elf nodded and rasped out a 'yes' with a shy smile, each and every bit of apprehension Thorin had disappeared. His gaze softened and he responded back with a bright smile of his own which refused to fade away long after Thranduil had left for the day.

Now more than ever, Thorin knew. He was in love and that in return, he too would be loved.

It would be a challenge, but with Mahal and Thranduil by his side, he knew they would do alright.

* * *

 

"Greenwood you say?" King Thrór enquired as he measured the two guards before him with calculating eyes.

Under his intense gaze, the two fidgeted and answered with fear-laden voices, "Yes Sire. We went and followed him even in the woods but..." One of them paused and looked towards the other who picked up the trail.

"But he went deep into the forest. And being only two of us, it is futile to search for him."

Thrór hummed to himself, and leaned back against his throne, contemplating deeply while the others resisted their urge to run out of the room.

The king of Erebor was well known for his strictness and temper.  _Especially_  regarding their own customs and laws. No one was spared...not even his own fugitive grandson.

After what seemed like hours, Thrór finally leaned forward and spoke, "We wait. Thorin can't hide long enough. The elves will find him. When they do, we will have word of it." He narrowed his eyes and ended with a chilling tone, "The traitor will return and when he does, he will be severely punished. I shall see to it."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay the last bit needs a bit of explanation: dwarves are extremely strict with the secrecy of their language. So I stretched it to their customs, religions and laws as well. So what exactly did Thorin do wrong? You'll find out real soon~ ;) Unless you guessed it from the summary. :P Please review!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot.
> 
> AN: This is more about Oropher and Thranduil's feelings than about Thorinduil. The next chapter will explain a bit of Thorin's past and some more Thorinduil progress! I'm sorry for making Thranduil so OOC and definitely sorry for the lack of dialogue. I will compensate in the next chapter~ err...at least I hope to! ^^;
> 
> Thanks for your support with this fic!

Oropher strode down the hallways leading out from Thranduil's chambers, ignoring the guards whose general greeting seemed more a nuisance than a form of courtesy at that moment. His heart was wild with panic and worry. With each step he took, the memories of that afternoon came hurling at him, drowning him with guilt and concern for his son.

Thranduil had seen so pale. He had not been himself lately. Oropher did not know why but his eyes were sharp and they did not fail to notice how day by day Thranduil would come home from his prayers looking a little lost, a little torn about something. He even looked a little...

_Lifelike?_

Oropher let out a shuddered breath as he hastened his pace. Thranduil was not in his chamber. Legolas too had not seen his father and for a single parent who kept his son so pampered, this was an oddity in itself. Oropher knew.

Chants again rang in his mind. Images of crowds and crowds of subjects flashed in his mind— all so still, so silent— standing in a queue looking condescendingly towards their prince, mumbling their words of unhappiness. Their voices echoed in his head haunting him to his very core. He remembered vividly how Thranduil's eyes became big and brightened with fear as they sought Oropher's advice, how desperately he pleaded wordlessly asking Oropher to understand that he did not mean to offend their people, their culture, his late wife and...Oropher himself. But Oropher had been a coward. He refused to give council when his people needed it. He refused to understand when his  _son_ needed him to.

His chest wrenched with a tight, hot feeling when he was reminded of Thranduil's defeated face as he looked away. He was disappointed, shocked, horrified. Perhaps he expected too much of Oropher? Or perhaps he saw disgust in his eyes as well?

His heart was throbbing with guilt, his cheeks burned with shame and no matter how hard he tried suppressing his feelings, he was pierced with one question: was he disappointed? Was he critical of Thranduil for just wanting to participate? He knew it was forbidden...but...wanting and acting were two different things, weren't they?

Oropher shook his head vehemently and followed the length of the corridors. His feet were picking up speed. His stride was now turning to a jog as panic beat down on his chest. The corridors were leading to another turn towards the right where they would merge with a terrace overlooking the vastness of Greenwood. It was Thranduil's favourite spot where he came to seek respite. Oropher just hoped that this time too would not be any exception.

* * *

 

It felt like his entire breath had left his body and for a while, Oropher found himself unable to even move as he stared in front of him with his jaws hanging ajar.

There, right in front of him was his son! It looked as if Thranduil had been here the entire time and where Oropher tossed up The Grey Havens and Mordor trying to find his son, he only needed to look where he should have at the very beginning!

"There you are," he said in an out of breath tone at which Thranduil stirred slightly before slowly facing his father.

He inhaled deeply for countless number of times as relief washed him over. "I have been looking everywhere for you. Why did you run like that?"

Thranduil flinched slightly and looked away, making Oropher mentally cursing himself for asking something that was way too obvious. He began opening his mouth to soothe the other however before he could utter a single word, Thranduil's eyes landed on him again and he spoke, "I do not know what overcame me. I apologize."

Oropher narrowed his eyes as confusion twisted his features. He looked at the other, trying to understand his logic and when he failed to, he couldn't help but ask, "Why do you apologize for something which you do not elaborate?"

Thranduil blinked a little, his eyes widening at the abruptness of his father before they melted with an expression which almost pleaded Oropher to understand.

_But what?_

"I shouldn't have done so," Thranduil was speaking again and his voice rung honesty and sincerity. His eyes were boring deep into Oropher's own, laced with a silent request and something else which Oropher failed to identify, "It was my lack of self-control and I promise you it will not happen again."

A frown crossed the others temple. He tilted his head, letting his eyes roam over Thranduil's face trying to decide exactly what his son was speaking. Suddenly, his eyes flashed with shock when he seemed to have noticed something.

Without a word, Oropher reached out and grasped Thranduil by his wrists, ignoring the sharp gasp which left his son's mouth. His hands released the wrists a moment later, strongly gripping the other's biceps, keeping him still as Oropher's eyes scanned Thranduil's entire form.

He could feel Thranduil struggling a little in the beginning but slowly, he grew still and stiff, breathing rapidly and averting any form of eye contact, an uncharacteristic trait that the prince now developed over the years.

Oropher's own breath was shallow. The panic he felt earlier was back, gripping his heart in a death grasp, as it wrenched and throbbed severely. A cold feeling was settling at the pit of his stomach and his eyes were hardening while despite his prayers he was ruthlessly proven wrong.

"Where have you been?" He asked coldly, gripping Thranduil tightly when the very question made his son flinch. "Where have you been?" He repeated again, this time with more sternness in his voice. However, he did not wait for Thranduil's answer. He was seeing enough.

Thranduil's hair was dishevelled and tangled, as if he had covered a great distance. His cheeks were shining with a light sheen of sweat, somehow enhancing the redness which seemed to tinge them all of a sudden as they did every morning after Thranduil's return. His eyes were shameful but still shone with a spark of life and a new energy which Oropher had not seen in a very long time till only recently. And his lips...

His eyes flashed with anger as his confusion was cleared with extreme harshness.

Thranduil's lips were  _swollen_  and Oropher was not a fool to know what caused it.

His heart panged as the realization dawned on him. He tried denying everything he thought but from what he saw, it all the more cemented his suspicion, making his chest churn with a sense of betrayal.

"Who were you with?" He asked, sliding a hand under Thranduil's chin and making him look forward when the other attempted to look away.

"I will ask you one more time and you  _will_ tell me," he commanded feeling the ice in him spreading all over his body, numbing his heart and mind with fear, "Who were you  _with_?"

Still Thranduil refused to answer. Still he looked away and as he did, Oropher yet again saw the stubbornness that Thranduil possessed unfurling itself after such a long time. However what had been once a very useful trait of the prince was now purely infuriating.

Letting out a sigh of annoyance, Oropher released the other roughly causing Thranduil to jerk at the abrupt action.

"Have it your way then," he said, his eyes burning with a cold flame as the fear in his heart nested thicker and thicker. "I want your best. I want you to be safe and protected and you go on making it increasingly difficult for me."

Thranduil was looking down on the floor while Oropher waited for him to respond. When he didn't, the older elf frowned in frustration and hissed, " _Say_  something!"

Finally, Thranduil looked up and ever so softly, he said, "I understand Adar. It was nothing. I assure you, it was only a temporary slippage from my oath. I did nothing dubious."

"You had better not!" Oropher replied looking almost scandalous as Thranduil dared to even think of committing 'dubious' things. He softened a moment later, feeling genuinely sorry for the other. After all, who would choose such a life unless enforced? Thranduil was still young.

"You know what our customs allow and forbid," he continued, running a gentle hand through Thranduil's tangled strands, "You know how harsh people can be. You saw today. I do not want you to go through with it, my son. I only want your best."

Thranduil too seemed to soften at his father's tone as he leaned towards the comfort out of pure instinct. His eyes reflected the pure agony and pain he felt from years of enforced celibacy. They shone but not with happiness. They expressed but not from joy. Instead, they pleaded. They pleaded Oropher to make this go away. To bring him out of this trench that he had fallen into...and that alone was enough to wrench Oropher's heart with grief and helplessness.

He straightened himself when he noticed Thranduil subconsciously bringing up a hand and placing it on his chest before massaging the side of his arms. At that, the sadness in his heart turned cold as his eyes grew firmer. He stepped away from his son, Thranduil being very aware of that little act, and took in a few deep breaths.

What he was about to say would hurt Thranduil and would hurt him but Oropher had no choice. It  _had_ to be done.

"Whoever it is Thranduil, you will not let it escalate," he was shocked at how cold he sounded as was his son. For despite the neutral mask that he always wore on his face, Thranduil's eyes flickered suddenly as if he sensed an upcoming loss before placating into a state of neutrality once more.

Oropher's heart panged with guilt as he clearly saw himself stripping away what could have been Thranduil's chance to a new life but his hands were bound. Rituals were to be followed.

"You will not mingle with that person and if you disobey me, I shall be forced to take stern steps. Do not force me. Please." He added.

With that, he turned and started walking away, trying his best to avoid the shattered look that marred his son's face briefly before he masked with it humility.

It was cruel, it was harsh but he had no choice. It was against their rituals and rituals  _were_  to be followed.

* * *

 

Thranduil stood motionless, watching his father leave as Oropher's words ran through his mind. He was breathing hard and with each heave, his chest seemed to be weighed down by an enormous amount of guilt that made it increasingly difficult for him to inhale.

His hand came up once again to his chest, his palm feeling the throbbing of his heart before nimble fingers curled around the fabric, gripping the spot tighter and tighter till his knuckles shook with an innate rage which welled up within him.

Shame burned in him. His mind echoed rebukes and voices criticizing him for his stupidity. They demanded to know what came over him. They expected answer for him to act such brashly and that too for a member of a race that was strongly despised by his own kin. What had he been  _thinking_?

Suddenly, Thranduil's breathing became relaxed. His fingers slowly loosened the grip on his chest as the pain he felt began numbing away.

The voices were fading. The rebukes were sounding dimmer and dimmer, merging into a voice as deep and soothing as the caverns Thranduil lived in. The angry stares were melting into two orbs which held nothing but love and honesty. Disdainful glances were schooling into a gaze full of promises and hopes.

His heart was racing again, glowing with warmth which was slowly spreading throughout his entire body. His cheeks were reddening up once more as a strange stinging discomfort settled in his chest and stomach.

Gradually, he unclenched his chest and brought a finger up to his lips, tracing them subconsciously as his eyes fluttered close.

He was torn. Where on one hand he loathed himself for slipping from his vow, on the other, he felt a strong urge of slipping again and again till it was the only thing he heard in his head.

Thorin was dangerous for his livelihood, he was dangerous to cause chaos and dispute...but he promised freedom. He promised love.

Perhaps it was because of that urge to be set free that Thranduil found himself in front of Thorin's doorsteps deep into the night. And as Thorin spoke with him, caressed his skin and brushed his lips, Thranduil knew that he did not bother about the chaos and dispute should word ever get out. He  _felt_ and he felt for the dwarf. That was what really mattered.

* * *

 

Oropher frowned deeply as he stood in front of Thranduil's chamber. He did not know what brought him to his son's room that late into the night. However, what scared him the most was when he realized what he expected to find: an empty chamber and no traces of his son.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback? Yes please~ :3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot.
> 
> AN: Thorinduil baby! Oh yeah! Ohkay, I needed to get it out of my system- don't judge me! Buuuuut, we have established Thorinduil people!
> 
> Now. The useful bit (and 'useful' in this case is another word for 'making-shit-up-and-botching-Tolkien's-life's-work'...hmm yeah, I should've defined it the moment I decided to enter this fandom. But you know it already. So...this is my 'sorry note' to Mr Tokien. And that is enough ramble inside a bracket). So where was I? Oh yeah the 'useful' bit.
> 
> And...oh yes, the rituals which are mentioned are almost made up...some of them are prevalent in some cultures but I mixed fact with fiction to dilute it.
> 
> And I think Thrandy maybe OOC here. Is it too terrible? Because I will definitely change it if it is so you know, unlike Thranduil.

 

"Who do you fear?"

Thranduil shifted awkwardly on the floor, bringing his glance up but letting it fall the moment it met Thorin's gaze. His cheeks became dusted with crimson and even if he parted his lips to speak, he quickly pressed them tight and exhaled deeply in an attempt to cover up his clearly flustered state.

Thorin had been watching this cycle for the past few moments now. He inched gently towards the other, bringing his hand up to place it on top of the other. Instead of the warmth of a hand though, he felt a gentle caress of fingers who brushed along the side of his palm as Thranduil retreated them, curling his fingers into a tight ball which he tucked partly under his thighs.

Thorin frowned and looked up, silently asking Thranduil a feasible reason for his sudden confusing act. He simply did not understand why the elf who had so demandingly allowed Thorin to embrace him, feel him,  _kiss_ him just moments ago was now so reluctant for Thorin to even  _touch_ him. However, as he peered deeper into those piercing blue orbs, his confusions began clearing away.

Thranduil's eyes were widened and burned like the brightest of stars as they reflected off the deep apprehension he felt within. Anger made his eyes shine, which flickered and widened for the briefest of moments before narrowing ever so slightly while the elf tried his hardest containing the anger which was directed more at himself than at Thorin. He was enraged, he was confused— but amidst every other emotion that spilled off vibrantly from his orbs, Thorin could also see something else.

Fear.

For a moment, his heart panged with great disappointment as he tried his best to suppress the thoughts that Thranduil distrusted  _him_. However much as it dropped suddenly into the chasms of his chest, the weight placed over it was lifted as it shot up to where Thorin felt a momentary void causing him to breathe out loudly.

His frown deepened again. His heart began pacing wildly. The pangs he felt out of grief were now swiftly turning into those of sympathy.

He reached out once more, slowly and surely, curling around the ball of Thranduil's fist. He felt the elf grow stiff and rigid at the very first contact. He felt the straining of muscles and the tough but restrained tug while Thranduil tried breaking free but Thorin didn't move away. His fingers pressed against the fist, gradually increasing the intensity of the contact till his entire palm was resting entirely over the back of Thranduil's hand.

His eyes never strayed away from that of the other. He was gazing at Thranduil, strong and powerful yet full of love, support and assurance— telling Thranduil that it was alright; that Thorin was here and that Thranduil didn't need to be afraid anymore. Whoever or whatever it was, Thorin would not leave his side.

Thranduil's vision wavered. The adamant gaze was now becoming more and more unsure as his eyes began flickering with wars waged by another emotion which was trying its best to peep out of the barriers of fear and apprehension.

Love. Hope. Want.

Clearly he wanted to let the feelings sweep him off his feet which were now being caged desperately by his heaving chest. Slowly, his resolve was dissipating as Thranduil was finally beginning to give in to what his heart was truly yearning.

Thorin's fingers wiggled in the inner walls of Thranduil's fist, pulling out one or two of the enclosed fingers before the rest unfurled and let themselves be wrapped over by thicker and less graceful ones.

Thorin's lips curled into a smile. The race of his heart was increasing. The warmth he felt deep within the hearths of his chest was now spreading to every corner of his body. His breathe became haggard yet restrained, rising and falling in the same rhythm with which Thranduil's own chest heaved so strongly.

The elf's eyes were quivering with sentiments. His face softened, and the battles behind his eyes were reducing swiftly, allowing the veil to be pulled aside and letting the love and unsaid wishes spilling with their entire valour.

He wanted to be loved. He wanted  _to_ love. He wanted to live, to be embraced, to be touched.

And as his fingers twitched with the slightest of movements, as they entwined together with those of the other's, he asked Thorin silently whether he could be loved; whether Thorin could love him as he fell for the other.

Thorin heard him. He selflessly complied.

"Who do you fear?"

Thranduil crooned his neck, digging his toes against the flesh of his thigh as he felt the movement of lips pressed against his neck and the heat of the breathes which made his entire being tingle with a certain anticipatory delight.

He sat cross legged on the makeshift bed that Thorin had prepared with the supplies he had managed to sneak past his father's gaze. Thorin's voice rumbled in the quietness of the dawn which surrounded them. His lips pressed gently and gradually at Thranduil's skin, travelling up the tendon of his neck, to his jaw line till they settled at the corner of his mouth, suckling the spot gently.

"What do you mean?" Thranduil murmured, turning his face slightly to feel Thorin's lips upon his own and moving his lips to return the gesture of love which Thorin had been showering upon him.

"Who do you fear?" Thorin pulled away and asked again.

Thranduil frowned and faced Thorin more clearly. "What makes you think I  _fear_?"

"You do. I saw in your eyes. You fear  _somebody_ ," He ended with a laugh, eliciting a glare from Thranduil who was moments away from retorting back. However before he could do so, Thorin spoke again, "Though it is ironic, for you do not seem the type to yield so easily...which makes me think, whatever it is must be quite impactful..."

Thorin's vice gently trailed off into the background as his sight became the only thing that remained in Thranduil's attention. The more he saw, the stronger his heart began beating at the very thought of the other's name.

All the while Thorin revelled, Thranduil kept his eyes transfixed upon him with a strange expression on his face. With each trail of thought, Thorin was close to unveiling that part of Thranduil's story which the Elven Prince never really wanted to be written for him.

His eyes suddenly mellowed as his heart ached with a sad realization.

It was unfair, Thranduil thought, for Thorin to be bound so hopelessly in love with him. Thorin was a dwarf...and the loss of the Sindarin High King was very much a festering wound in the hearts and minds of every elf. Even if Thorin was spared from the wrath which would be incurred upon his kin, should word ever get out, there was one barrier which was greater than anything else which would prevent their story to be completed.

It was Thranduil himself.

Yet Thranduil wanted it. Yet he wanted to be free, he wanted to be loved. He began falling for Thorin—no, he was heads over heels for this dwarf. This dwarf showed him life. This dwarf made him  _taste_  life. Now that he had a palate for it, Thranduil doubted if he ever wanted to be reverted to the life he knew he could never heartily adopt.

"...and yet you do not speak of your family. Why is it?"

Thranduil snapped back into attention as Thorin's voice again came into focus. Thorin was looking expectantly at him, waiting for a response, an answer to the many queries he had.

Thranduil kept quiet. A frown was making its way on the dwarf's forehead all the while he debated within himself whether or not he should tell Thorin; whether Thorin needed to know him in full and whether it  _mattered_.

Finally, when he realized that it was even a greater folly to keep Thorin in dark and for him to stay oblivious to Thorin's tale as well, Thranduil let out a sigh and began.

"White symbolises purity, celibacy. Those who wear it are unmarred and unblemished and must stay so as demanded by customs." He noticed Thorin forming a question but Thranduil stopped him with a gesture of his hand and went on.

"We do not pray to the Sun. We pray to Varda, the Vala of Stars, to wipe away the darkness that may reside in us and make us pure.

"See, whenever you have deceased spouse, you are expected to honour him or her and forego the colourful life you have spent with your spouse and devote yourself to the life of a celibate, thereby honouring the love you shared with your spouse. With them being gone, you lose the colours from your life. From then on, out of respect you are expected to keep yourself from other things which would indicate you enjoying your life without your better half which in itself is a despicable thought.

"We scatter the ashes of our loved ones in the River Isen which as it flows into the sea, delivers them passage to the Grey Havens where they should've gone under normal circumstances. The waters cleanse the cause which caused their untimely death and deliver them to eternal peace. The one who is left behind must now follow rituals and customs— they must never touch meat. Meat is impure as it represents luxury and what is luxury without your better half? Similarly taking part in festivities is forbidden. And claiming another love..."

Thranduil couldn't go on. His voice trembled at the end and he swallowed hard, desperately trying to soothe ache which was stabbing his heart over and over again. He saw Thorin whose face was twisting with empathy and helplessness as his hand rubbed Thranduil's back gently, trying to comfort the elf.

"Our people follow them to the core," he said finally after he had calmed himself down considerably. "To them, any violation is a heinous act. And..."

After a sigh, Thranduil spoke while more and more his words quivered, "I once had a wife. She was not my love but she was the noblest friend I ever had. Once I was a proper Prince. Not a delicate glass doll that needs fretting over. I had a life without restrictions. But I have a son...an elfling. I—I have a father who bears great responsibility. Yes Thorin, this Woodland is my home. My father rules it."

"Status hardly matters," Thorin replied seeing unfazed. Thranduil wondered whether it wasn't much of a shock to the dwarf or whether he had guessed it all along, "I too was a prince. I too had hopes and aspirations to rule one day. But when I was faced with the choice of maintaining my integrity and feigning it, I chose what my heart thought was right. You should do the same. It is one thing to respect customs and it is another to let them make you die little by little every single day."

Thranduil looked up, his wide eyes shining with unshed tears as he sought the other for any kind support. His lips parted, curling into a weak smile when Thorin's support was acknowledged while the dwarf began stroking Thranduil's cheek gently with the back of his hand.

Thranduil leaned in to the touch and continued what he had started, "I fear for them. I fear the stigma I will bring upon them for I can't stop. I can't stop myself from falling in love. I will be a heinous being in their eyes and those associated with me will have to live with this stigma forever."

He sucked in a huge breath when he felt lips folding over his own. Thranduil breathed in and out again— rapidly at first which began slowing down to a more comfortable pace— and before he knew it, his eyes fluttered shut, his hands came up, delicately touching Thorin's cheeks as he too moved his lips with the gentleness which Thorin had initiated.

He moaned and whimpered a little when Thorin pulled back. His kiss swollen lips quivered with a powerful emotion, as did his eyes. His chest was rising up and falling down as the feelings he kept caged in for so long threatened to burst open. In his wide wondrous eyes, instead of all the hesitation there was vulnerability now he had tucked away long ago when he became his wife's husband.

Thorin was staring back at him fervently. His warm dark eyes were peering into Thranduil's own, exuding assurance, love and respect; taking him in as if was the first and the only wonder of the entire world. Thranduil saw the same look— the same mesmerised gaze that he had seen each and every day starting with their first meeting. The feeling was there, unaltered if not increased.

"There is nothing wrong in loving again," Thorin replied finally breaking the silence which had covered them. "And I will not stop loving you because some enforced rituals."

"It is sacrilegious," Thranduil warned.

"Then I am a sacrilege."

"I am a widower. My wife has passed."

"I am an exile," Thorin said in a low rumbling voice, "My choice is in males."

Thranduil's voice was growing softer and softer till it was on the brink of a whisper. His arguments were growing weak, his resolve was breaking in front of the longing he now felt for this wonderful person who had showed him light. His eyes were dancing in love which he now no longer denied.

As a final attempt, he spoke as a small smile was touching the corners of his mouth. Now his words were merely seeking assurance than conveying warning.

"If you stay with me, you will burn."

Thorin smiled and kissed the other, liking the way how Thranduil himself broke into a delightful chuckle while he kissed back.

"Then let me burn."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooh, so it is official. Watching Chris Nolan's films have this weird influence on you which ants to make you write something cool and amazing like Nolan's creations! Ergo, 'The Dark Knight' is a very good motivating factor to write romance with this dreamy/narrative thing relaying over flashback kinda feel. I am damn positive my rant did NOT make any sense. XD
> 
> Please review~~


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot.
> 
> AN: Implied smut ahead! I would've written one in full but then...why not give this a go, yeah?
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely response!

Thranduil stumbled across the corridors, unmindful steps carrying him as fast as they could to a direction which was naturally ingrained in his brain. His gaze was unfocused, daze covered his sight and even though his mind was forcing his legs to move, it was still stuck in the loop of events which had occurred not too long ago.

_Warm lips folded upon his own, eager hands roaming on his skin, leaving behind a trail of fire and want making Thranduil desire for more. For centuries, his carnal needs were forced to suppression; centuries had gone by since Thranduil was allowed to indulge in such an insinuating act. But no more._

Thranduil took a sharp turn and pressed himself against a wall, lulling his head to the side and closing his eyes as he focused on only his breathing.

His chest was heaving. His breaths were long and deep. Every time air entered his lungs, he could feel a low and dull burn spreading across his chest. He placed a palm over his heart in hopes of calming himself down but it was futile. For he knew that whatever had transpired was something he could not easily store away at the deepest corners of his mind and pretend otherwise.

He dropped his arm and slid it along the side of his leg, torso and length of his other hand—tracing the exact same path where Thorin had touched him, where Thorin's lips caressed him, his breath tickled him.

_Their bodies moved as one, arching and falling like the tides of emotions reigning Thranduil's heart. His skin tingled with desire, his heart ached for touch. His mind screamed that it was forbidden. That should word get out, they could be banished...Thorin could be killed. But whatever concern would make its way in Thranduil's mind, it would quickly be swept up by the increasingly powerful waves of desire, lust and love. Pants filled the air, their moans echoed throughout, melting with the rustles of the forest. Kisses were showered, words were whispered and soon enough, all the other senses of the world vanished away till there was nothing but Thorin's name falling from Thranduil's lips like an unsung hymn and the same with Thranduil's name on the lips of the other._

Thranduil opened his eyes and steadied himself. He slowly brought his fingers to touch his flushed cheeks as his vision still held the daze he never truly wanted to shrug off.

Thorin had breathed life back in Thranduil. They had made love. They had proclaimed their love and vowed to be each other's 'One'. It thrilled Thranduil. It brought him an emotion which he had long forsaken: joy.

During the aftermath, as they lay side by side in each other's arms, the words which Thorin whispered so solemnly in Thranduil's ears kept whirling in the elf's mind and each time he recalled them made his cheeks flush all the more and double his happiness.

" _We shall run away. You and me where no one will find us. We shall settle with the humans where they would not be as nastily judgemental. Where we could be who we are and where we wouldn't have to fear conventions or customs."_

" _But I have a duty...and a son."_

" _Forsake duty. We will raise the boy together. He will be happy with a clean mentality."_

_Thranduil smiled, his eyes sparkling with the very thought of such a possibility._

" _I shall not let anything happen to you both. I promise."_

Thranduil jolted out of his stupor when he vaguely registered a dull ache at his elbow. He frowned and looked down at the spot, only to have his frown disappear and let his eyes be widened with a sense of utter dread.

The source of the dull ache came from a tight clenching on his elbows. And there was only one person who was allowed to touch him so.

He slowly looked up, his heart racing wildly with fear. When he was met with orbs of emerald green, Thranduil felt air leaving his lungs as his heart felt like coming to a standstill.

"Adar," he rasped out, feeling his tongue freezing on the spot.

Oropher narrowed his eyes dangerously, a small snarl making its way on his lips matching the fury which was shining brightly in his eyes. He clenched Thranduil's arms even more tightly, ignoring the light gasp escaping his son's lips before pulling him away towards the study.

All along the way, Thranduil could do nothing but pray to the Valar for he knew it was a sin which Oropher would not so easily forgive.

* * *

"How  _dare_  you?" Oropher's voice was low but so acidic and furious that it was enough to chill even the bravest of hearts. He released Thranduil's arm and shoved his son further into the study, slamming the door shut before directing his entire focus on Thranduil.

His son seemed wanting to cower away under the weight of Oropher's gaze but he held his own. Under normal circumstances, Oropher would have been proud of his son's courage. However, his pride was now blinded by the deep betrayal which was inflicted upon him by his own kin.

"How dare you? Who gave you the right to dishonour us?" Oropher admosnished, his nostrils flaring as he tried his best to contain his anger.

"Adar I—"

"Silence!"

Thranduil seemed visibly startled as his father's booming voice echoed throughout the chamber. The prince went quiet immediately, looking at the other with wide eyes as his hands began trembling with fear of what was about to take place.

Oropher however paid no notice. Or if he did, he didn't let it bother him. He took long strides and quickly closed the distance between them before he leaned forward and snarled, "I always have understood that it is not an easy life for you. I always empathised you for throwing your youth away when you could have done so much more but never— _never_ once had it ever crossed my mind that my son,  _my_ own blood would think it right to insult what we hold sacred, to insult his own  _father_!"

Thranduil's eyes flickered for a moment before he bowed his head and stepped away at a reasonable distance from his father.

However, Oropher was not done. He clenched his teeth and glared at the other as he spoke harshly, "I should've taken it as a sign. I should've thought something was wrong the day you came late and was not yourself. If I had done something then, I would not have to see my son's bed empty last night! Oh Thranduil what have you done?"

Suddenly, Oropher fell to his knees and clutched his head with both of his arms as his voice lost all its edge. He let out a breath which was shuddering hard, much like the king himself who was trying his best to keep himself together but was failing miserably.

Sound of light steps could be heard—hesitant and slow—stopping right beside Oropher before he heard a rustle of fabric and felt a warm and gently hand on his shoulder.

"Forgive me, Adar." Oropher looked up at the sound of his son's voice. There was guilt in Thranduil's eyes but surprisingly, no shame.

"It was not my intention to hurt you. It never was." Thranduil's voice was gently, his words sincere. "I apologize how you had to find out...but not for what I did."

Oropher tore his eyes away from the other, suddenly finding it extremely hard for him to look at Thranduil. How could he? How could he see insolence in his son's face when he so blatantly betrayed his trust?

He jerked off Thranduil's hands and kept breathing through clenched teeth. His heart was wrenching with guilt and fear. He dared not think what would happen if word got out. He dared not think how his people would react, how they would banish Thranduil forever how Legolas would have to bear the stigma of his father frolicking against and disrespecting his mother!

A cold chill ran through his spine and his hands trembled as he rushed to cover his eyes and face, keeping the tears from rolling down his cheeks.

He had half expected Thranduil to reach out to him again but he didn't. Instead, Thranduil spoke in a very honest tone, "I love him, Adar. He makes me feel things I have not felt for ages. He loves me as I am and could care less of me wearing white or blue or red. Thorin keeps me happy and I him."

"Thorin?" Oropher hissed indignantly, looking scandalously up at the other. " _Thorin_? That is no elf name! Nor do I suppose it belongs to a human!"

He had not known what to expect. Perhaps, he hoped against hope that Thranduil would say that it indeed was an elf. At least, Oropher would have the peace of knowing that Thranduil's fall from grace was caused by a creature less heinous than others—no matter how disgusting he would be.

But he was proven wrong yet again.

Thranduil's eyes fell on the floor and he slowly began shaking his head. At that moment, whatever little hope he had left in him was brutally squashed away by the declaration of his own son.

"A dwarf," Oropher whispered, words failing to come out from his throat. He quickly got up on his feet, stumbling unsteadily at the momentum. Thranduil got up as well and reached out to steady his father but the very touch made Oropher's skin crawl with disgust. He jerked away and put a hand forward, forbidding Thranduil to come any closer.

Disappointment filled Thranduil's eyes. His face became ashen and he stared up at his father, pleading with his eyes to forgive him and accept them. However, Oropher shook his head and looked away. He missed the expectation draining away from his son's eyes as Thranduil stepped back with a heavy heart, as if he knew that he could never regain his father's affections.

The sound of footsteps was slowly beginning to drift away, fading into the furthest corner of the room where the door was.

Thranduil was walking away.

He knew that he should've let Thranduil walk away; to never set foot in front of him ever again. It was what he'd do with any other. It was right!

However, before Thranduil could leave the chamber, something in Oropher stirred, making him to look up wistfully at his son and call him back.

Thranduil paused. Surprise was clear in his body language and as he slowly turned to face his father, Oropher could be damned to witness traces of hope shining from his son's eyes.

"Do you know what you have done?" He asked, though the query was rhetorical at best. "He is an outcast! He must be! You will start anarchy. They will take you away from me. Have you thought of that?"

He saw guilt in his son. He saw how the other's face twisted in sadness and grief before placating into a cold mask which he had learned to wear over the years and it was then that the father in Oropher knew that his limitations.

As a king he should have banished Thranduil...but as a father, he made a decision which he knew he would never regret.

"Thranduil," he began, "Go to your room and do not come out unless I say so."

He saw Thranduil opening his mouth to protest but Oropher stopped him before he could utter a single word.

"I order you."

The elven prince stood in shock for a great while. Perhaps he hadn't anticipated that as his father's reaction. Perhaps Oropher hadn't as well...however, the other soon complied and bowed before quietly heading towards his own chamber, where he would find his son already waiting for him.

In the mean time, Oropher just hoped that the dwarf would leave his lands so that his kin wouldn't set foot looking for him and start a war. He was well aware of dwarven attitude towards male lovers. He was well aware of the attitude of his own kin towards a second lover... that too of an eternally mourning husband.

* * *

"Are you certain he has not left?" Asked a voice as its owner looked incredulously at the river which flowed deep into the woods.

His companion nodded, "He will not leave so soon; not when he knows he is being hunted."

"Not when he perhaps has had a pretty he-elf as a companion?" Said another.

Another dwarf let out a chortled laugh, patting his axe he held in his arms, "Perhaps. Even better if we find them in bed."

"Then no qualms about his fate would arise. And those foolish elves would too not stop us in delivering him from his sin."

"Let it be a warning to all. Let them see what it is to be a heretic," The first dwarf said darkly as he readied himself for the march ahead. "Even if it is the king's own grandson."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note to self: That makes four dwarves. Four. Okay!
> 
> I think we are nearing the end of this fic. I won't draw it out too much as this thing is already fast-paced. Do lemme know what you think~ Please review. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I only borrow the characters. I don’t own them. 
> 
> AN: More drama! :3

Rushed footsteps echoed off the walls as the owner took great long strides, trudging forward, determined to cross the corridors before his breath left him. When he passed by the others, he did not even bother about the worried glances he received. For that was the least of his concerns at the very moment.

The elf took a sharp turn and clenched his teeth. The action made the wound in his leg throb. His steps faltered slightly but still he did not stop. He brushed off the limp as he had done the whole time and sped ahead.

There was grave news.

 

 

The door to his hall flew open startling Oropher and his advisors. The king still had not gotten over the shock of this audacious entry when his surprise intensified when he took upon the condition of the intruder.

It was one of his home guards. His hair was dishevelled, his eyes frantic, ankle bloody and the way he was limping and stumbling towards his throne, it was more of a reason for Oropher to feel a sudden sense of foreboding in his heart.

“What is the meaning of this?” He asked rising from his throne, feeling his voice chocking at the horrors he could already see before his eyes. After all, such a sight could only be attributed to one thing.

The elf swallowed thickly, trying to suppress his pain. Bringing it under control he said confirming Oropher’s worst fears, “My King, we have been attacked.”

“Attacked!” The king whispered under his breath, his eyes widening as if he could now see the horrors in his head more vividly. “By whom?”

The guard frowned. His eyes began glowing with hatred as he struggled to bring the names to his mouth as if just by mentioning it would make him sick.

Finally he answered, “Dwarves, Sire”.

At that Oropher stilled completely and along with him a silence engulfed the vast throne room.

“Dwarves?”

“Yes. Four. They pillaged talans and destroyed our posts. There are no casualties yet but they are barbaric. They ambushed us. And I fear there are more to come.”

Murmurs started behind him. Hushed words of panic and worry soon started drifting in the large hall as the impact of the guards’ words sunk in the advisors’ mind. Soon their worry deceased as the very tone of their voices changed. Now the whispers were no longer bewildered. They became stronger, firmer and more determined as the elves used their wisdom to protect themselves and strategize.

Oropher’s face hardened. His eyes flickered as mentally, he began stringing the facts and the events which had happened over the past few days. With each passing moment, the entire picture became clearer to him and as it did his face grew paler and harder as the flame in his eyes intensified.

Just then, another realization rolled over him causing the elf king to pause in his next course of action.

His heart suddenly froze with fear.

If word had reached him, then surely it would reach his son. And if it did...

He took in a shuddering breath, oblivious to the concerned gazes being directed at him. His heart leapt in his throat, leaving a void in its place which ached all the more as Oropher tried to calm himself.

He turned on his heels and flew down the stairs, ignoring the calls from his advisors. Hs son was his priority. Thranduil would not be the source of his worry at other times but he was smitten. He was rebelling and in that spirit if he did something foolish then he would certainly be killed by the hands of his ownkind.

A cold chill ran down Oropher’s spine as he clenched his teeth, wilfully trying to discard the trail of thought.

No. He couldn’t have Thranduil leave. He couldn’t have his people killed for the sake of one dwarf. He couldn’t have his son killed for the sake of that dwarf.

“Prepare the defences. Keep close. Dwarves will use their brute strength. Take care of them before they reach too close.” He called out over his shoulders to the elf guard who was expected to rally his troops. He was about to leave the room entirely but before he could do so, he commanded one more thing which surprised the other occupants, “No one should enter. And _no_ _one_ should leave.”

 

 

Thranduil frowned as few elves hurried past him. Their whole body language told of something urgent but as he approached anyone to ask, he found none having the time to stop and just answer. Not even to their prince.

At first he shrugged off thinking it nothing but the drills which Oropher subjected them to. He too had been part of it once— overseeing the drills and initiating it. Once he was the one guiding them. Now it was the other way around.

Just then another group of elves ran past him. This time, they were more in number and much too heavily armed for it to be just drills.

Worry ate his heart as Thranduil tried guessing what it could be to arouse such reactions from the others.

Wild animals?

No, that could not be right. Greenwood had animals, true but none were too dangerous for the elves to hunt them. Then what could it be?

His eyes widened with fear when the sound of a horn came floating in. At the very implication of it, Thranduil tried exhaling but all of a sudden, he found it to be too difficult as if a great weight was sitting over his chest— a great block of ice— chilling him from within and depriving his lungs which now soared for air.

His vision blurred and legs wobbled, the weight of his body becoming too great to bear. He took unstable steps back all the while he tried to wrap his head around what was happening. Thranduil gasped when his back touched the wall and he jerked forward, flinching even more when something grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him back, dragging him away.

His sight clearing, he looked up incredulously and the fear in him worsened all the more when his eyes landed upon the being which was now pulling him towards his own chamber.

“Adar! Are we under—“

He was cut off when Oropher opened the door to his chamber and swung Thranduil in, making the younger elf stumble a few steps while he found his balance. By the time he could stable himself, Oropher was already storming off towards the door. 

“Adar, please! Tell me what is happening!” Thranduil pleaded, quickly taking off after his father. His heart was suddenly thrumming wildly as his mind drifted towards the centre of the forest and in a hut till it landed on a very familiar face. The image flashed in his mind for just a blink of an eye before his eyes were met with the site of his father turning and the door closing.

“Adar!” Thranduil screamed, stilling for one moment when he heard something heavy being put on the door. Shock filled him and his heart was again gripped by pure horror as he realized what was truly going on around him.

He banged on the door; screamed, begged, pleaded to be let out but Oropher seemed to pay no heed. The sound outside the door stopped and so did Thranduil’s scream.

He kept his ears to the thick wooden panel trying to hear any other sound which would follow. His father was still there for his ears could not pick up the sound of receding footsteps. His father was still standing just opposite to him. He was still there. He had not left yet.

“Adar,” Thranduil called out softly bringing his hand up once more to bang on the door. But he soon brought it down when his father’s words entered his ears.

“Stay.”

It was more an advice than a command. Oropher’s tone had firmness to it but beneath it all, Thranduil could detect one more thing.

The same which took hold of him immediately as his mind flashed over to his young son.

Legolas!

Thranduil had been such a fool! His son was outside. He was still outside, he was alone! And if they were attacked, then he needed to stay with his son!

Oropher perhaps had detected his son’s mental state for he quickly added, “Legolas is safe. He is not here.”

Quickly, relief washed over Thranduil. He sighed as he recalled that his son had left for the Golden Woods just the day before. He was safe and out of harm’s way for now.

But Thorin wasn’t.

Just as the very name came to his mind, Thranduil’s heart wrenched painfully. He knew well enough why this all was happening. Thorin’s words reverberated in his ears. Thorin had been called a heretic. He was hiding. He was taking refuge so that he could escape the others.

They were certainly looking for Thorin and they would not stop till they had caught him.

He was again brought to attention when some more heavy sounds followed. Oropher was unlocking his door. However, he heard his father speaking to someone else. No, not speaking. _Ordering_. His father was ordering—probably to the guards—which deepened Thranduil’s frown.

Oropher knew his son extremely well and was telling the guards to escort Thranduil should they need to evacuate; _not_ let him go anywhere alone. His father was making sure he couldn’t leave where he truly wanted to.

Thranduil straightened up and closed his eyes. His entire focus was on the outside, his keen ears picking up any and every sound which followed.

His heart steadied, determination burned in him and suddenly he found a sudden strength which would help him disobey his father.

And Thranduil knew that he would not regret it.

 

 

So far there was no news of further attack. The dwarves were holding off, screaming and demanding for ‘the traitor’ to be handed over. The elves were perplexed and demanded to be clarified. The dwarves refused.

Oropher kept his steely gaze upon the leader of the small brute band, assessing him and trying to find out anything which would reveal their true intentions. At the mention of a traitor, the father in him grew extremely anxious, afraid that they were talking about Thranduil. However, the diplomat in him told otherwise. Thranduil had not stepped outside Greenwood for years. And his dwarf...they couldn’t be one of these lot. That meant that these barbarians were truly searching for the one over whom his son was so smitten. And that meant that he was _in_ Greenwood and nearby!

Worry crashed against him and he kept his piercing gaze still despite the storm which was building up in his chest.

Soon, the elves would figure out that there truly was a dwarf in refuge. And they would figure out who brought him here...and _why._

His best option was to stall as long as possible and make it seem like the dwarf in question was a criminal of some other sin.

His gaze flickered when he noticed a new dwarf running towards his companions and whispering something to the other with excitement. No sooner had he done so, the others quickly fell back and disappeared into the forest, running at full speed and with a new found vigour.

Oropher stood confused as did the elves.

Did they give up? Would giving up make them so energetic? Or did they finally find him?

The indication brought immense amount of relief to the king. If they did, then Thranduil’s secret would not be revealed and his son would be spared! He still ordered his army to hold their ground unsure if the dwarves had any unfair surprise planned for them.

However, their heavy steps were disappearing deep into the forest. They were moving and were not crouching for an attack.

Glad, Oropher sighed out and asked his army to keep an eye out.

They truly did find the dwarf.

He was about to turn and head towards the throne room when he was stopped by another elf which practically stopped short of colliding with his king.

Oropher frowned. He knew the elf. He had seen him not four hours ago outside his son’s room.

“Why are you not in your place?” He admonished, narrowing his gaze at the other. But the elf’s very appearance was proving that he was not shirking his duty.

The Silvan’s eyes were wide with panic and his face was so pale that it betrayed the whiteness of snow.

“Your Majesty,” he began, struggling to force his voice out of his throat, “The prince. He did not stop.”

“What?” Oropher felt the ground sliding beneath his feet as he looked scandalously at the elf guard. “He ran out?” He hissed, feeling the desperation seeping into his cold mask.

The guard lowered his gaze at which the anger in Oropher rose, followed soon by an utter sense of terror as his whole body numbed.

He quickly shoved the other and ran towards the stable, hoping to catch his son before he did something more foolish.

As he left, he missed the dubious stares he was receiving from other elves of whom, some broke flank and followed their king. They caught wind of something which concerned the king’s son and Thranduil’s behaviour over the last few days only fuelled their suspicion.

And by the time they mounted their steeds, they did more than just assume.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are almost there! Almooost! Please review~


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I only borrow the characters. I don’t own them.
> 
> AN: Oh gosh I am sooooo overdue with this chapter. So so soooo sorry! I don’t what happened. Really. : ( But the good news is—I am almost done, maybe two or three chapters before I wrap this baby up. I have it all planned out (and drafted out). So the updates will now be really really fast!
> 
> It is a short chapter, guys. I’m sorry. But I do hope you like it.
> 
> Oh and one important, important message—I have included it in the summary too but I think I should mention it here as well—I have decided to have Oropher and guys live in Amon Lanc. You’ll see why later on. :D It is a late development—kindly like a decision taht I made *today* and just hope it doesn’t confuse you guys.
> 
> Anyway, here it is:

Thranduil’s horse ran at its topmost speed with heavy breaths bellowing from it as well as its rider. His eyes were wild and frantic as they desperately looked for a very familiar figure through the woods, his was hair tussled from the gush of wind which flew against him and his cheeks had a red flush about them as desperation clearly etched his face.

Thranduil turned his head left and right, his senses on high alert for any sign of Thorin and each time he heard the slightest of sounds, his ears perked up immediately with a spike in his heart beat and he turned towards that direction, only to curse mentally and look ahead when the sound turned out to be of trivial value.

Thranduil realized he was running out of time. He had already been spotted by one of the guards and it would not take too long for his father to find out. A sudden chill ran down his spine. He took a shuddered breath and realized that perhaps it was better if he would be found out by his father, rather than the guards. His father would spare them. The guards would not.

Suddenly, he gasped when his eyes caught something moving among the thick cover of bushes and as an instant reflex, Thranduil pulled the horse’s reign with great force, causing the horse to neigh out loud and grapple the air, standing on only two logs before it hit the ground with the front ones.

The horse hadn’t fully come to a stop before Thranduil jumped down on to the ground, tumbling a little because of the difference in momentum. No sooner had he landed did Thranduil run at full speed, crashing against a stout body, wrapping his arms around the other and fervently pulling him into a kiss.

When he broke free, his breath was full with worry mixed relief and his eyes sought the other’s, dancing between warm ones while his lips trembled with undecided words.

“They will kill you,” Thranduil breathed out, pulling Thorin in another embrace.

He felt strong arms wrapping around his own frame but even Thorin’s assuring touch did nothing to soothe Thranduil. He broke free immediately and held Thorin’s arm, dragging him to the interior of the forest.

He ignored the thousands of questions falling from Thorin’s eyes. They could be answered later. For now, they needed to hide.

 

* * *

 

“I see tracks!”

Oropher was startled when he heard a voice calling behind him. Being followed was the last thing he ever wanted at the moment and immediately, his mind worked hard to try and give the other elf slip just long enough for him to collect his son and keep him safe.

Just then, trampling of more hooves reached his ears and his whole heart froze and sank at the pit of his stomach.

He could handle one elf. Not the whole army.

He quickly diverted his horse into a more obscure tracks but knowing his soldiers well, Oropher knew that it was futile to wish for the others not to catch up to him. It would take only moments for them to spot the king and then, his son.

Still, he prayed. Hoping against hope, he prayed.

* * *

  “I see him! There he is!” Called out one of the elves, motioning for the others to follow him. He sped his horse up to the king who seemed to be placing great effort in hiding his displeasure upon seeing his guards.

“Your Majesty,” the elf said once he was close to Oropher, “The dwarf is dangerous. We advise you to stay with us.”

Oropher did not respond. Instead, he rode ahead, causing the guard to frown and follow him once more.

“Sire, we _urge_ you to stay with us,” he said more sternly this time, making Oropher to finally glance at him, still riding at the same pace. Though his tone was polite, the guard’s urge was equivalent to a warning and Oropher perceived that well enough.

 The guard levelled his gaze with the king. He did not like one bit of the prince’s recent attitude. Him coming late into the palace, Thranduil almost wanting to go for his morning ritual, him leaving the palace at odd hours, returning extremely late, disregarding their customs— everything knit the beginnings of doubts and rumours in the elves’ hearts and minds. Now with the arrival of the dwarf, the way their prince rode frantically was something which ingrained their doubts into beliefs.

Thranduil was involved with someone. He was involved with the dwarf.

 Like others, the guard was disgusted at such an atrocity and he knew that because of Thranduil’s involvement, Oropher’s judgement would be biased.

Oropher was aware of this as well.

After what seemed like ages, the king finally blinked and slowed down his horse. He finally gave in.

* * *

 

“Is he there?” Asked one dwarf, with acid in his voice.

“Yes.”

“Is that an elf?” Asked another, horrified at the two as they shared embraces and kisses.

“Thorin is incorrigible,” one took the opportunity to express his disgust.

“And in a short while, he will be taken captive.”

  
“They both will.  They will be punished as the king sees fit.”

* * *

 

“What is happening?” Thorin asked as they hid in a thick covering of bushes and trees. Thranduil was extremely tense and was shaking with anxiety and it was this which caused Thorin great worry.

He had never seen the elf so riled up. And what was fearful for Thranduil in his own land was utter dread for Thorin as well.

Thranduil perked up and quickly placed two fingers on Thorin’s lips, pleading him to be still and quiet before he turned his attention to the forest.

After a while, he turned and spoke in a very low voice, “Some dwarves attacked our palace. They are looking for you.”

Thorin’s heart dropped as fear tormented his chest. He looked fearfully at the other as Thranduil continued, “And so are my people. If they find us—“

Thranduil’s speech was cut short by a terrible noise of hooves which filled up the entire air. Trees rustled, bushes were forced open apart, hurried footsteps hustled about and the shouts which filled the entire forest were so spiteful and venomous that the very sound of them reflected animosity and hatred.

“Thorin,” he heard Thranduil speak his name and Thorin reached out, trying to soothe his love before something grabbed held his arms tightly, forcing them behind Thorin’s back, yanking him up to his foot.

“NO! Release me!” Thorin screamed out in defiance, thrashing against and glaring at two dwarves whose restrain got even stronger the more he struggled.

“Release me!” Thorin screamed once more, only to be frozen in pure horror at the scene before him.

Two dwarves held Thranduil down on his knees, two strong hands on his mouth, while Thranduil struggled and tried his best to break free.

“No! No no no NO! Let him go! He has nothing to do with this!” Thorin cried out, franticness evident in his voice as his eyes grew wild and desperate. His heart pounded with fear, his wit left him and the courage he had always about him suddenly fleeted away as Thranduil’s pleading eyes met his own, silently asking him to run away, to break free and escape at any cost!

All of a sudden, the bushes around them rustled even more and before Thorin could even comprehend, the dwarves holding Thranduil fell down on to the ground as the four were pierced by arrows. Their bodies were shoved aside while slender framed bodies yanked Thranduil up on his feet.

Thranduil breathed out loud, his lungs now burning for air. He started runnings towards Thorin but was viciously pulled back while the elves now took Thorin as captive.

“You release him!” This time it was Thranduil who shouted at the top of his lungs, fighting ferociously at his captors. He stilled momentarily, his bright eyes now landing upon a prominent figure which was none other than king Oropher himself.

At seeing his own father, Thranduil’s gaze wavered as the anger dissipated into imploration, “He has done nothing wrong! _We_ have done nothing wrong! Release him and let him be! Leave us alone!”

Oropher’s eyes flashed with something which Thorin could easily understand as sympathy and sadness before they steeled themselves and the king turned away.

“Adar! ADAR! What have we done? Tell us what we have done! We broke one custom each, Adar! There s nothing wrong in breaking them! They are binding. They are meaningless. ADAR!” Thranduil bellowed but all his shouts were unheard. Soon, the prince gave up entirely and fell into a demure state, gazing at Thorin with utter helplessness.

Thorin’s heart churned, a hot pain searing inside as Thranduil’s vulnerable gaze fell upon him. There was so much sadness, so many apologies, wishes and prayers locked in those vibrant blue eyes, made all the more bright as they swam in unshed tears.

Thorin too stared back, trying his best to convey to Thranduil that Thorin would always love him, no matter what the outcome was.

He opened his mouth and even started to speak the very words he never grew tired of saying, “I—“

But before he could finish, he was shoved roughly and was made to walk.  The elves started to drag them and as they did, Thorin realized that they were finally meeting their fate and that there was no way escaping it now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review~


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I only borrow the characters. I don't own them.
> 
> AN: One more chapter to go...and then the epilogue.

The guards paused and stood at the middle of the throne room, keeping their grip absolute on Thranduil's arm, making him flinch a little. He had stopped resisting, knowing that he would only exhaust himself to achieve something he knew would not happen. The guards would not obey him—not since he was a traitor in their eyes—and his father, the king, would definitely want him before his eyes especially after his little stunt.

He glared at one of the guards holding him, demand burning in his eyes. He demanded to know where Thorin was; he had to see the dwarf for himself. He had to see him unharmed and the very prospect of anyone ever laying a finger on Thorin made his heart pound and churn with tremendous rage. The guard seemed unmoved.

All of a sudden, Thranduil's eyes widened with surprise when both released him. He twitched slightly, even opening his mouth to start asking for answers but before he could even do so, the guards swiftly turned on their heels and left, leaving Thranduil baffled.

Confusion swam in his orbs.

Was that ever so easy, he wondered, to be left unpunished after his heretic act? Surely he wouldn't be left standing alone to repent in his own guilt and shame?

The very thought suddenly made something to dawn upon him, freezing his heart with terror in his purest form.

Thorin! Were they headed for Thorin? Would he be kept alive just to witness his love being murdered?

Fear shone through his orbs, making them grow extremely small and dance in an erratic rhythm while his heart pounded ruthlessly against his chest. His hands trembled and his knees screamed, wanting to give up his entire weight.

At his left, a small sound was made, causing Thranduil to immediately snap his head at that direction. Once he did, the terror in his eyes melted into agony and his lips quivered screaming unspoken pleads to one he knew could avert everything should he wished to.

His father. The king.

Without any further delay, he scampered towards Oropher . The king's eyes flashed with a mix of emotions, all leading to some kind of rage or disappointment—Thranduil didn't know. He didn't want to at that moment. It didn't matter.

Oropher slowly lowered his arm which he had been keeping up in the air and Thranduil realized now why the guards had suddenly left. His father ordered them to.

"Adar, I beg of you!" He cried out, desperation unhidden and intense in his voice as he spoke. "I shall accept whatever fate awaits me but please let him go!"

After all, if his father had not have Thorin executed on spot when he had the chance, Thranduil could hope for some form of mercy, couldn't he?

He searched his father's face for some form of leniency. However, when Oropher's intense gaze fell upon him, Thranduil felt his blood curdling and freezing once more as his heart felt like being gripped by something strong and unrelenting.

"Listen to me Adar."

Yet he tried. Yet, he refused to give up. He refused to resign. He had done so once. Not anymore.

"It was I who had approached him. You have no cause to retain him. Let him go. I shall take his place as it should be."

He was quite astonished to find strength behind his voice—the same he had bore once when he was a prince and not some fragile glass doll. Oropher noticed it too for his stern gaze wavered for the briefest of moments before settling back to the unreadable mask he had on him in front of his subjects.

Thranduil felt a sharp pang in his chest.

Subject. He was now a subject and not a son. However, he shrugged it off for his mind was not accommodating any distractions. Thorin was his priority at the moment. Thorin was his concern.

He took a step and ascended up the stairs to the base of the throne where his father stood. Oropher's face flashed with indignation but he said nothing. He followed Thranduil's moves, eyes affixed on his son—intense and strong—determined to end whatever was started once and for all.

Thranduil came to a halt before his father. Suddenly, without any warning, his face twisted and he crumpled on to the floor, hugging Oropher's leg and shaking rampantly as wild sobs wrenched out of him.

"Please," he wheezed, "You were never so heartless. Never so cold. You always fought for what is right. Why change now?"

His sobs became more guttural and drenched with pain, echoing throughout the halls. It was as if decades of grief broke through the dam he had carefully crafted around his well of emotion after the demise of his wife.

Had he looked up, he would see a frown on his father's face and water in those emerald eyes but even so, Oropher spoke nothing. Not for a while.

Slowly, Thranduil's sobs died down. Quietened whimpers filled the hall, overridden by a dreadful silence which soon took hold of the entire chamber. Then all went still.

"Because this was never right," spoke a solemn voice at which Thranduil looked up trembling once more.

"But why!" At last frustration took hold of Thranduil as he released Oropher and stood once more, staring right at the other.

"Because it is not natural!" Oropher said, raising his voice before lowering it down seeing the startled look on his son's face.

"What? Love is not natural?" Thranduil countered, his eyes dancing with a flame he had long been keeping under cinders. At his brazenness, surprise and awe shadowed the face of his father.

Seeing his opportunity, Thranduil pressed on, "I have been devoted to my wife. I have forsaken my life after Fate had done hers and I have obeyed every single custom that I am to obey. But what custom is that which tells you to close your heart and keep love away? What custom is that which demands you to banish every chance of freedom or free will?"

"One that respects your better half!" Oropher shouted at last, stunning Thranduil to an astounding silence. "One that asks you to  _sacrifice_  and  _respect_ the purity you have been bestowed upon rather than putting forward your own selfish needs! A CUSTOM THAT DEMANDS YOUR LATE WIFE'S HAPPINESS!"

With those words, Oropher gasped out immediately and his eyes went wide as he realised the full extent of his comment. He said nothing more and simply stared at his son with a fearful gaze, wishing to take all that had escaped his mouth.

Thranduil for his part felt absolutely cold. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe and couldn't even comprehend what his own father had asked of him while he stared at the other with a scandalous look about his face. His lips trembled, his orbs danced and his knees once more felt so weakened that they almost threatened to make him drop indignantly before the king as he had done so before his own father.

"Thranduil," Oropher's voice was no more than a whisper—apologetic, ashamed and yet astute. He even took a step forward, reaching out to soothe his son. However, Thranduil flinched away as if he had touched something extremely hot and took a step back, shaking his head with disbelief and shock.

His father frowned in distress and tried very hard to undo whatever had been said. But it was too late. The damage had already been done.

"And what about mine?" Thranduil asked, barely managing to rasp out those words.

Oropher's frown deepened and his anguish was clearly written on his face—evidence of his shattering heart and unguarded shame of uttering things which no father ever should.

"It is against what we believe and abide by. It is unforgivable by the Valar. It is unconventional." Even though his father's voice was soft and more understanding, still it ached Thranduil's heart to know that even after everything, Oropher still took the side of his people rather than standing alongside his own blood.

His father reached out again but this time, Thranduil made sure to put greater distance between them— something he had never dreamt of doing in his entire life.

Oropher's face fell at the very gesture; his eyes shone with unshed tears but now Thranduil did not care.

"W _e_  make conventions," he responded in a dangerous calmness, " _Not_  the Valar."

Then he turned on his heels and started walking away towards the only place he knew he would find his peace.

He did not once look back. He did not once take in sharp pain his father felt as embarrassment burned in his orbs of forest green.

It did not matter.  _Thorin_ mattered.

His father had made his decision. And Thranduil had made his.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is unbelievably short. D: Gahh. But it seemed like a good place to stop. Anyway, I will totally make up for it in the next chapter. Totally!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I only borrow the characters. I don't own them.
> 
> AN: Aaaaaalrighty! Here is the final chapter where all the drama converges. There might be a sudden change in tone. Please let me know if it is too brazen to the eye so that I may tone it down. :)
> 
> As always, I have truly appreciated the support which you have shown. Thank you so much for sticking by this fic :)

Throughout the night, Oropher found no peace. The encounter with his son relayed over and over again in his mind, never letting him forget the moment he decided to treat his son—his own blood—like a mere stranger. Thranduil's words rang in his ears, squeezing his heart and lungs, choking him with grief and humiliation which he had brought upon himself.

He found no peace. He was left stranded. On one side stood years and years of custom and tradition—sacred and pure—but on the other hand, there stood his son.  _His son_! He felt so confused entangled in the internal war of rationalism and emotions raged within himself.

He felt so  _wronged._

How could he be so blind? Thranduil had suffered enough and he deserved his happiness. But what could Oropher do? Their customs were sacred to their people. Those customs were divine. Any deviation was intolerable and Oropher  _saw._ He had seen how passionate elves were about such things with his own eyes; he had seen how they held traditions above everything else and how unforgiving they were even when it came to the prince!

The elves had called a council at dawn where they would decide what would be done to Thranduil and the dwarf. Perhaps they would spare him. Oropher hoped so.

It was out of their respect for Thranduil that he hadn't been banished yet. It was out of their respect that they would only punish the dwarf who had dared to touch his son's heart. However, if Thranduil did anything more—if he did anything heretic, then he'd certainly be...

A cold chill rand own his spine as Oropher let out a shuddered breath. It was not in his hands anymore.

He could not allow Thranduil to be with the dwarf. He could not allow his son to be  _killed_!

_I have forsaken my life after Fate had done her's._

A choked whimper left his throat as his heart wrenched with the cruel twist of Thranduil's words.

But Thranduil was but a shell of what he used to be. Before his eyes were dull, lifeless...and now...

His fists clenched before they trembled and clutched his head. His chest felt so hot and tight, constricted and under tremendous pressure of something that surpassed guilt. His knees shook and the more Oropher tried to clear his head, more louder would Thranduil's words echo in his ears, stabbing his heart and ripping it with an uncontrollable agony.

He dropped to the floor, fingers entangling with his own hair, tugging it hard as if it would ease the sharp hot pain eating away his heart. And when it didn't, Oropher finally submitted to the strong and unrelenting paternal emotions welling up within him.

He cried.

* * *

"You should leave."

"I should."

"Then why don't you?"

"Because I wish to stay here."

Thorin looked up from the dark and damp floor of his cell to the face on the other side of the bar—the only light in the grim place.

"With you."

Thranduil's hands were upon his, squeezing it reassuringly with a promise to not let go. It warmed Thorin's heart; it eased his mind that Thranduil's love was pure and honest and untainted by the attitude of his people.

But with what he had seen, the very same scared Thorin.

"They will find you here," he warned but somehow, his voice lost all the edge when Thranduil pressed his lips upon Thorin's, kissing his hands and lips earnestly.

"If they do, they'll not spare you. I know my fate. But you have a chance to save yours!" He went on insisting but Thranduil seemed to pay no heed.

At that, a small smile graced Thranduil's face. He kissed Thorin once more before he spoke in a soft voice that moved Thorin deeply, "I have already been saved.  _You_ saved me."

"Thranduil..."

Both of them startled at the familiar sound of the dungeon gate opening, making each of them to look in the direction of the stairs from where descended four guardsmen.

Immediately, Thranduil stood up from his kneeling position and glowered at the others.

"What more do you want from us?" He snarled venomously, "Have you not done enough?"

The guards paid no attention to him and proceeded to unlock Thorin's cell door. In an instant, the dwarf felt himself being forced upon his feet. His hands were roughly tied behind his back and two of the elves practically shoved him and made him to walk out of the dungeon.

Up till that point, Thorin accepted everything quietly. However, when he saw the rest holding Thranduil on either side by his arms, he could no longer keep his cool.

"What is the matter with you? He is one of yours!" he shouted, struggling wildly against his bonds. "He is one of yours! Let him go!"

"Silence!" One of the guards finally spoke up, "The council demands both of your presence."

"Council?" Thorin growled but immediately froze when his eyes landed upon Thranduil. The elf looked to be in utter disbelief. He looked frozen, pallid and that alone brought a shade of fear in Thorin's heart and mind. However, they both were not given enough time to ponder before they were frisked away to face the fate which would be decided for them.

* * *

The council was gravely silent. Their eyes were cool, locked on the two heretics while their faces remained solemn.

Oropher stood on one corner, seeking out Thranduil's glance, trying to convey something—anything—that would earn him his son's forgiveness and would speak of his own helplessness. Thranduil looked at him many times but the look he was giving was calm. Accepting.

And it was something which Oropher was extremely familiar with. It was something which made him writhe inwardly in grief. The flame of life he had finally seen in the eyes of his son was lost. Whatever happiness he had finally attained was gone. And somehow, Oropher was to blame.

There would be no hearing. There would be no trial. The decisions had been made. The destiny had been set. Now, it was only the matter of delivering it to the two  _sinners._

Oropher felt his hands growing cold. His heart started racing in his chest, a dull ache following thereafter every time he tried to inhale.

His gaze shifted restlessly between the councillors and his son. His mouth was dry and his mind chanted countless of prayers to the Valar, asking them fervently to spare his son. He was afraid.

"What would you say you have done, Thranduil Oropherion?"

He closed his eyes when the council finally addressed his child, his hands trembling by his sides, curling into a pair of quivering balls.

"I have sinned," came Thranduil's calm reply.

"And what is your sin?"

"My sin is that I am in love once more. I love a dwarf. And his sin, he loves me."

Oropher looked at his son. There were no traces of fear in Thranduil's composed tone. Nor was there any trace of the same in his eyes. No...rather, they were...brighter. Warmer. As if a flame had been rekindled in them while he spoke.

"And we regret nothing."

Silence prevailed once more, thicker than before. The councilmen were still staring at the two. Their faces still set as stone but there was something that made their eyes flash.

Their indignation. Thranduil's honesty.

It was then that Oropher felt his jaws to drop. It as then that he felt something crash against his chest—a belief, a realization, a  _reality._

It was then that his inner conflict was resolved and a powerful sensation strengthened his heart. He knew finally where he would stand. Beside his son.

"Enough of this."

It seemed the entire council shook at the strong voice of its king. Its members—who had their attention solely upon Thorin and Thranduil—now snapped their focus on Oropher who was standing before them, at the centre of the hall and beside Thranduil.

Oropher's chest shook as he felt the full weight of every eye upon him but his voice remained firm.

"This has gone long enough and we all know that you will banish the dwarf, possibly my son or have the dwarf killed. And I can't allow that."

He felt Thranduil taking in a sharp breath, even whispering to him to step back but Oropher had no intention of doing so. If his son could display courage of defending the one he loved, then so could he.

The elder councillor bristled at the intervention. "That shows your bias. You dare break our traditions?"

"I will break hundreds more for the sake of my son," Oropher answered with great confidence, feeling something strengthening within himself Not just his resolve but his beliefs as well. "What are they anyway when they ask someone to forfeit his right to choose?"

His own eyes became sharp as steel and he matched the councillor's gaze level by level as he spoke in a tone full with authority, "It does for I am a father. As a father, I will not live to see my son fading away when his love has been snatched away yet again."

"As a father, you have no place in this council."

"But as a king I do!" He narrowed his eyes, and lifted up his chin in a manner that he still managed to look down upon those seated before him in a high desk. The blatant declaration stunned everyone in the vast hall and as one started to say something, a sharp look from Oropher quietened him immediately while he went on, "I have it in my power to allow a meeting such as this and ban it, should I see fit."

"And you declare our grounds unfit?"

"Certainly!" He cast a glance at Thranduil who was shocked beyond belief and as for the dwarf he seemed extremely pale as if he would pass out then and there. He directed his focus once more on the others and explained, "I am not about to order the execution or banishment of a dwarf who has caused no threat to our realm. If anything, I should shelter him after the attack he has suffered."

"You will do well to remember that the attack was solely because of him! He is a heretic. He is a traitor! His whole realm will be after him." One countered, no longer keeping his frustration at bay.

At that, Oropher bristled at the sheer indignation  _he_ was made to suffer. He glared at the other, reminding him of his place and stature, making him to waver in his stance and take a seat when he responded, "And you will do well to remember that this is  _my_ realm.  _I_ am its king. If I can accept him outside his kingdom, then so should his kingdom and so should  _mine_."

He paused, letting his words sink in for they were final. He no longer felt conflicted. He finally knew what he was to do long before that very moment.

He fought for Thranduil. He fought for his child's happiness.

The customs were scared. But Thranduil was worth potent than a thousand rituals. And if Oropher would burn along with them, then so be it.

He realized the full extent of what he was doing. He was rebelling against millennia of traditions. He felt Thranduil shifting closer towards him. He felt the light brush of Thranduil's fingers upon his hands and after a long while, Oropher felt at peace. His son had forgiven him. And  _that_ was what which really mattered.

The council looked unsettled. They looked betrayed and they were. For now not only one but the king himself had opposed their beliefs.

And though never exercised or questioned, it was in every bit of the king's power to upturn any law or infuse a new one.

Oropher had done both.

But it was what he said next that stunned all.

"I give them my blessing."

He turned to face his son at the sound of Thranduil no longer controlling his surprise. He met the other's eyes, which were now shining brightly with gratitude and happiness of enormous proportions and that alone gave him strength for what he was about to do.

With a deep breath, Oropher delivered the final blow, "And in my kingdom, such customs will no longer be stringent. If for that I must forsake this one and build a new one, then I will. I shall gladly accept those who are not willing to follow us and warmly welcome those who do."

With that, he spared no words, took a hold of his son, ordered the guards to unbind the dwarf and walked away along with the other two.

Once into his chambers, Thranduil wasted no time and almost ran towards his father, crushing him in one huge embrace.

Oropher laughed and returned the gesture with equal affection before pulling away just enough so that he could see Thranduil's grateful smile.

"You shouldn't have done that," Thranduil said at which Oropher laughed.

"No but wanted to." There was a glow in his son's face and a tinge of red when he cast a glance down at the one who supposedly held his heart. Oropher still had to make great adjustments regarding the dwarf he hardly knew but for someone to march into impending doom just for the sake of Thranduil's love, Thorin had gained enough of Oropher's respect.

"And Amon Lanc was getting rather boorish," he said abruptly.

"Adar!"

"It is! The new palace is so much divine and cosy. We should leave as fast as possible. We all need to start packing. You especially. What with your trunks of clothes and all."

"Adar," Thranduil's meek voice stopped him.

"Yes my son?"

"Forgive me. It is because of me that you have to face this day."

At that, Oropher shook his head and cupped Thranduil's cheeks, stroking them lovingly. "Whatever do you say?" He sighed, "I already had plans of moving my kingdom. This just gave me the impetus I sorely needed."

He kissed Thranduil on his forehead reassuringly. "I am proud of you," he said warmly, "You opened my eyes and gave the courage I sorely needed."

He then faced Thorin and addressed him, "Dwarf?"

Thorin twitched his brow but answered politely, "It is Thorin, Your Majesty."

"Oh right then. Thorin. I suggest you help my son. Once in our new palace, you shall have clothes tailored for you according to your taste. As well as your accommodation. As close as you can get and I shall allow near my son's room, I gather?"

He smirked when he saw a tinge of red creeping on Thanduil's cheeks. But before they could respond, Oropher smiled and clapped Thorin on his back, "The Silvans make better subjects anyway. We must summon Legolas as quickly as we can. I know he will love it there! Oh you should see Anduin! It is beautiful and the forest is so much more colourful in that part."

"Adar."

"Oh and have you seen my new elk?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sad ending averted! But wait! Epilogue coming up. :D Till then, please review!


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I only borrow the characters. I don't own them.
> 
> AN: Finally, the epilogue. This story is officially completed and as much as I am excited, I am kinda little sad that it ended so soon. But then again it was a short project. And, having said that, I am not done. Still many ideas are there Still many fics to come!

Oropher along with Thorin, Thranduil and Legolas set up a new realm beside the river Anduin. As promised, the palace was brilliant—underground, grand and majestic, carved in the same fashion as Elu Thingol's abode, under the very guidance of Thranduil himself.

Legolas was happier, enjoying every bit of his new home and the change in his father. Thranduil was more open. The flames of life once again lit up his eyes and his smile was so hearty that it lightened up even the most depressing of moods.

And as predicted, the Silvans heartily welcomed their new king and prince. They rejoiced in the love blossoming between Thranduil and Thorin and showered blessings when the two wed in a grand manner.

They still maintained their customs but due to Oropher, they were made to be less stringent. They allowed choice, free will. They showed respect towards bereaved ones but also granted a second chance to the ones left mourning.

The elves at Amon Lanc eventually abandoned the kingdom. Some sailed west, some dispersed to other colonies.

The old kingdom fell. A new one rose. A generous one, a powerful one.

* * *

Thorin lay on the graciously large bed, his eyes affixed on the door before him and his heart pounding dully with a mixture of anticipation and thrill. Beside him burnt candles, rendering a sweet, soft glow—one which instantly reminded him off the inherent light seemingly coming off from Thranduil. The sweet smell of rose petals sprinkled all over the bed bore the same fragrance Thranduil had about him—rich and smooth yet sweet and soothing that could calm any weary mind.

The wait was now becoming longer and stretch beyond Thorin's liking. He was getting restless. Throughout the entire day he had not caught a glimpse of the one who held his heart and at the very moment, Thorin simply craved Thranduil's presence like one does for water in a scorching desert.

His heart suddenly skipped a beat when the door to the chamber cracked open, prompting Thorin to sit up and watch with grown eyes as he eagerly hoped it to be only one person that truly mattered to him right then.

When the shy figure stepped before, Thorin could only do a little to hold back the gasp which made its way out.

"You look," he tried to find the right words as his eyes fell upon the elf that had put an end to his misery. Finally when he realized that there were no words that could truly describe how Thranduil looked, he resorted to use only one word in a tone which held so many emotions, "Magnificent!"

Thranduil had long discarded his robes of white. But for the night, he wore that which was gorgeous in red and gold, carefully weaved by the craftsmen rendering such a regal and yet beautiful glow to the elf prince.

Thranduil noticed how Thorin had taken him in with awed eyes. He smiled and said softly, "I wore it the day before my marriage to my late wife. I had given up any hopes of ever wearing it." He paused and Thorin found a shadow of remembrance dancing in Thranduil's unblemished face. Soon, the shadow faded away, softening Thranduil's features and dusting them with crimson as he said further, "I thank the Valar countlessly as I wear it once more for you."

"You have your father to thank for that," Thorin responded softly as he felt a very familiar warmth in his chest—the same that he felt when he had first laid his eyes upon Thranduil's serene form in the river.

To that, Thranduil smiled. His eyes were downcast with shyness at the beginning.

"And you as well."

However, as moments flew by, he slowly brought them up and settled them upon Thorin, looking intently at the dwarf who had maddened him with his selfless love. There was light in Thranduil's eyes, shining and flickering like the stars of Elbereth as he slowly started coming towards the bed.

Thorin watched wordlessly as Thranduil floated near him like a dream. He slowly undid hi robes, letting them pool at his feet and as he did, Thorin could feel his heartbeat quickening as he revelled in the form before him. Thranduil's skin was like ivory, his golden hair falling over his shoulder and back like a cascading waterfall. His eyes were bright and blue, deepening in shade as love clearly shone through them.

"Do you plan to stand there?" Thorin asked, finally giving up his patience much to Thranduil's mirth. "For I have much in my mind that I want to do with you."

Thranduil bit his lips and looked at his love with mischief.

"What if I do?" He asked playfully and ran a delicate hand across his collar bones, enjoying as Thorin followed the movement with desperation and longing.

At that, Thorin's lips tugged upwards with a smirk while there was a mischievous gleam in his own orbs of coal black. He slowly made his way to the edge of the bed till he was inches away from Thranduil. He enjoyed how Thranduil became flustered; he felt the elf's quickened breath, moist and heavy with lust and want, as his eyes darkened even further.

He brought his hand up and rested on Thranduil's sides, massaging them briefly, making the elf arch in pleasure. Then without any word, Thorin wrapped his hands around Thranduil and fell with him upon the bed, making Thranduil gasp as he rolled around and pinned the elf underneath him.

"Then my dear," he growled, his smirk widening much to Thranduil's delight, "I shall have to take things in my own hands."

With that he lowered his head and started kissing Thranduil. They would spend the rest of the night making love and murmuring promises as their passion for each other would drive them to the brink of pleasure.

* * *

The river Isen still maintained her important role. And with years to come, she would carry with her flow the most reverent of ashes—of a great king who would not outrun his unnatural death, and a great lover who would not outrun his mortality.

But instead of setting them free with a heavy heart, Thranduil would do so with prayers of a better afterlife. He would mourn but he would not be lifeless. He would respect but not be clad in white ever again. He would live on. He would remain.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it for this project~ I do hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I have done writing it. Thank you to everyone who has provided their support. You guys are a precious, precious bunch! Thank you. :D
> 
> So, till next time~

**Author's Note:**

> So...what do you think? I welcome any feedback. :)


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